


The Ghost

by GreedofRage



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, R Plus L Equals J, Robert Knows about Jon, there will be tears
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 16:20:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 68,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14429472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreedofRage/pseuds/GreedofRage
Summary: A mockingbird in Winterfell hears of a small detail about a certain bastard that might make him a dragon hiding as a direwolf. Will be mix of show and book. Updates will be slow until Night Dragons is complete





	1. An Unexpected Visit

**Author's Note:**

> Warning, do not expect frequent updates until my Fic Night Dragons is completed. Chapters will probably be written to ease my writers block so they won't be often. That, and I plan on mixing both show and book elements. But if I'm going to do that I think I should actually read the books. Not only that, but I still don't know the entirity of what I'm going to do. But there's enough time between now and a certain point in this that I can read and plan. So for now, enjoy the first taste.

Petyr

 

The first days of a new spring were gently entering the country of Westeros as the snows of winter were melting into the earth, nurturing the life that would soon blossom all throughout the nine realms. In the North however, it would be at least another year before the snow would completely vanish. It was the one place in Westeros that would have snow when every other kingdom would be suffering under the heat of a blistering sun. Today though, the sun’s heat was blocked by the clouds that filled the sky. One would hope that the weather would be fair, but the falling snow destroyed that hope completely.

Riding on the soft cold mud of the Kingsroad, Petyr gripped the reigns of his horse tightly as a sudden chill rushed down his body. He made the mistake of wearing too light a cloak when he left the capitol. But hopefully when he arrived at his destination, his host would be kind enough to supply a thicker one. At least, if she would welcome his surprise visit.

Winterfell finally came into sight. Petyr had never been nor seen the great castle of the North before. compared to the castles of the other realm it was fairly plain, but unique enough that it was its own shape and design.

Petyr sighed as he continued along the road, glad that he finally arrived, but also worried that he would be unwelcome by the smallfolk. There were some in the North that knew of his duel with Brandon Stark for Cat’s hand, and many found it dishonorable that he tried to at all. Honor, what a disguise for pride these days. The Northern barbarians just use that word to say that what their country lacks that the others have, the people make up for in character.

Petyr never would have come to the North now that Cat was married and having children by the litter, but fortunately her husband was off fighting off another Greyjoy rebellion. The Ironborn were the only ones probably more stupid than the Northerners. They have the means to be a great and powerful people, but their way of the so-called Iron Price is what kept them from achieving that. They were prideful, but they were honest about it.

He slowed his horse down to a stop as two guards standing vigil at the Winterfell gates blocked his path.

“Halt,” one of them said, holding up one hand while keeping the other on the pommel of his sword, “no one may enter the castle at this time until the Lord of Winterfell returns or by invitation of Lady Stark.”

Such a precaution was to be expected. Ironborn spies and assassins could be anywhere in the North, ready to exact vengeance on the wives and children of the men who fought them at Pyke.

“I will admit, I have no invitation, but if you could please inform the Lady of Winterfell that Petyr Baelish of the Riverlands is at the gate, I would be most grateful.”

The guard looked at the other one and nodded, signaling him to go do as Petyr asked. At least some of them were intelligent. It didn’t take long for the guard to return.

“You may enter. Welcome to Winterfell, milord.”

Petyr forced a smile to both of the guards as he dismounted his horse and led it through the gates. The moment he stepped foot into the castle, a feeling suddenly rushed over him. He felt uncomfortable being in such a place in a way he could not explain. He didn’t feel that he wanted to leave the castle, but the castle wanted him to. Walking to the stables, a large man as big as the Mountain walked up to him with a gleeful smile.

“Hodor?” he said.

“I beg your pardon?” Petyr asked, confused.

“Hodor.” The hand extended out a large hand and gently took grabbed the reigns of Petyr’s horse while gesturing to the stables.

“Are you a stable hand?”

The big man’s smile grew larger and said the same word again. “Hodor.”

“He wants to tend to your horse.” A child’s voice said. Petyr turned his head and saw a small boy with a head of black curly hair and dark eyes. For a brief instant, Petyr saw something familiar in the boy’s face. “Hodor can’t say anything else. He’ll take care of your horse from you.”

“Oh, well that will be just wonderful then.” Petyr let go of the reigns to the big man who gently handled the horse into the stables. Before Petyr could give some words of thanks, the small boy was hit square in the head with a snowball.

“Ow, no fair!” the boy shouted.

Not to far away, hiding behind a small wall of snow, another boy of the same age was laughing as he threw another snowball. The black-haired boy ran away to the cover of a post to avoid any more attacks already dealt.

“Petyr!” A familiar voice said. He turned around and smiled happily when he saw Cat approaching him swiftly.

“Cat,” Petyr opened his arms and the two of them embrace in a tight hug. It had been far too long since he saw her. Eight years of rising up in King’s Landing were well worth a small visit. They let go of each other and each took a moment to see how the other has changed. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“The same can’t be said of you. You’ve grown a beard.” Cat said while smirking.

“Aye, but not as thick or lengthy like the ones in the North.” He kept his facial hair trimmed and shaven like every person with position in the capitol should.

“Why on earth are you wearing such a light cloak? You must be freezing.” Immediately she turned to a servant girl who was close by. “Could you get something warmer for our guest.”

“At once, milady.”

“Eight years,” Cat reminded, “how have you not had a visit in eight years? We’re practically family.”

“I’m sorry Cat. King’s Landing is a cruel place. If you want to be anything other than a beggar, you must forfeit all of your time to the city. That, and I don’t think your husband would take kindly to my presence.”

“Do not be silly. Ned is not the kind of man to turn away friends of the family. Come, walk with me.” The two of them began a slow pace, Cat taking the lead and making her way up to the balcony surrounding the courtyard.

“It’s so glad to see a familiar face again,” Cat admitted. “There have been days I’ve longed to go home to Riverrun for a week or two, to see father and Edmure. But the North is so much more complicated than anyone knows, it’s hard to find time for one’s self. How long will you be staying?”

“Not long I am afraid. I’m not just here for friendly visit, but business as well.”

“Business? What kind of business could bring you here? In fact, what kind of business do you run?”

Petyr cleared his throat and was hesitant to answer. “I own three establishments in King’s Landing, soon to be four.”

“What kind of establishments?”

Cat gave a lecturing glare at him, knowing she wouldn’t like the answer. “It is not the most of honorable of positions, but I own brothels.”

“Brothels.” Cat confirmed. “You own three brothels?”

“I know how it must sound, but I have become a very rich man, and high amongst the nobles in court. The Master of Coin has even taken notice of me and considering making me an apprentice of his, maybe even a successor.” Cat sighed, not knowing to be disappointed or glad for him. She leaned her hands on the railing of the balcony and looked out to the courtyard.

“I am not ashamed at you, I just feel uncomfortable.”

“Do not get the wrong idea. I do not take pride in owning pleasure houses, I take pride in my success. Kings Landing is a viper’s nest. If you don’t do what the snakes desire, they’ll devour every bit of you and spit out what’s left on the streets of Flea Bottom.”

Cat shook her head. “The world we live in is a sick one, and we hardly do anything to remedy the illness.” She turned to look Petyr. “I’m happy that you’re rising up in the world. Maybe you will be the one to turn your House into one that known throughout all the Seven Kingdoms.” Cat gave a pleasant smile, pleasing Petyr greatly. She turned to gaze back at the courtyard and her smiled died quickly.

“What is the matter?” Petyr looked out and could see more of the castle’s children playing in a snowball fight. The two boys Petyr first saw were teaming up against of a group of three girls.

“Mother,” a little girl’s voice said. Petyr and Cat turned to see a small girl with red hair looking up at Cat. “Can I go play with the others?”

“No Sansa,” Cat said firmly, “I don’t want you playing with the bastard.”

The little girl looked absolutely crushed at her mother’s denial. “Cat,” Petyr said, “who might this be?”

“Petyr, forgive me, this is my daughter, Sansa. Sansa, this is Petyr of the House Baelish. He is an old friend of mine I grew up with in Riverrun.”

The little girl looked at Petyr and gave a curtsey to him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”

“Such grace,” Petyr commented, “are you sure she’s your daughter and not the princess of the North?”

Sansa gave a little smile and blushed at his remark.

“Cat, you must not be cruel to her. To let the other children play and not her, it would be a sin against the Seven to not let her have fun with them on a day like this.”

“Petyr-”

“She won’t be a little girl forever Cat. Let her enjoy it while she can.”

Cat sighed heavily and knelt down to her daughter. “You may go and play with them, but I better not hear of you falling asleep during your lessons anymore after this, alright?”

Little Sansa smiled brightly and tightly hugged her mother around the neck. “Thankyou! I promise I’ll pay extra attention to Septa Mordane.” Sansa gave another curtsey to Petyr before running off to go join the other children. Instead of evening the odds and joining the boys, she and another girl joined the others, making it five against two.

Cat rose up and continued to watch the children play but wasn’t at all pleased.

“Which one is your husband’s bastard?” Petyr asked.

“They one with the dark hair next to my son, Robb.” She was referring to the same boy who helped him at the stables. So he was the famous Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell, Eddard Stark’s only stain on his honor. “Ned could sire a dozen bastards and I would overlook all of them, so long as not one was in sight.”

Had Cat chosen him over the Starks, she would not have had to at all. “I cannot imagine how it feels. To be constantly reminded of husband’s dishonor must be a tough strain on your marriage.”

“I do love him Petyr, and he does love me. But this damn honor of his can be so irritating. He won’t even tell me the name of the bastard’s mother. All he ever says is ‘he’s my blood, and that’s all you need to know.’ Sometimes I wish Ned just left him in Dorne where he was born with his mother, whoever she may be.”

Petyr suddenly became greatly confused. “Dorne? But his name is Snow, isn’t it?”

“I brought that up once myself. Why give the boy the name Snow when he is a Sand? I got the same answer I get every time I asked about the bastard’s mother followed by ‘he is the blood of the North, and the North will be in his name.’”

Things began to make sense now. Petyr knew that Eddard Stark brought the little bastard to Riverrun from Kings Landing when the rebellion was over, but it never occurred to him to think he was born anywhere but the North until now.

“I hope I do not sound out of place when I say I can understand your husband’s dishonor to you now. He went to Dorne to rescue his sister, but her death must have grieved him so much that he fell into despair. In my experience of running my business, sometimes a woman’s warmth is the only thing that can bring men out from that darkness and back to themselves.”

“If that was how it was, I think in my heart I could find it more tolerable to have the boy here, but he was conceived before Lyanna died.”

“He was?”

Cat shook her head and regained her composure. “Forgive me. Here you are, freezing and visiting after years and I have you talking about the bastard. Let’s get you settled in the guest chambers. I would love for you to meet my youngest, Bran.”

Petyr put on his smile that he always wore in Kings Landing. “Yes, that would be wonderful.” A they both began to walk to the inside of the castle, Petyr took one last look at Jon Snow, wondering what kind of woman was able to make a Stark break his vows.

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

“Five against two isn’t fair!” Robb shouted after a snowball pelted him on his nose.

“What’s wrong?” Jeyne Poole shouted at them. “A couple of boys mad that they’re going to lose to a bunch of girls?” All five of the girls began to giggle behind there fort of snow. They were nested right below the balcony, and none of them but Robb and Jon noticed a certain two-year-old sister of theirs with a wooden bucket of snow. While everyone was playing, Arya was gathering snow, but everyone thought she was going to play by herself. With the help of Ser Rodrick, Arya tipped the bucket over and rained a large soft block of snow on top of Sansa’s head while he made sure she didn’t fall too.

Robb and Jon started to burst out laughing while Sansa started to fuss. She looked up and saw who the culprit was. “Arya!” The baby Stark girl started to laugh uncontrollably at Sansa’s defeat. Ser Rodrick picked her from the balcony and handed her over to a wet nurse who was looking for her.

“She’s a little she wolf that one, just like the late Lyanna.” Ser Rodrick said to the wet nurse.

As Sansa brushed the snow out of her hair and off her dress, Robb and Jon got out of their cover and approached the girls. “What should we play next?” Robb asked.

“How about Aegon the Conqueror?” Jon suggested.

“No, that game is only for boys.” Joy Cassel spat. “Honestly, bastards can’t think of anything good.”

“Shut up!” Robb shouted. “If anyone calls Jon a bastard again, then they don’t play anymore.” Some of the girls scoffed at Robb for defending Jon. Jon personally didn’t care. He was always reminded by Lady Catelyn of what he is, it was all she ever did when she addressed him.

“How about Hide and Seek?” Sansa suggested.

“Oh that’s a wonderful idea.” Sarah, daughter of Tommy the barber, said.

“Yes, let’s play that.” Joanna Holt agreed.

“Alright,” Robb said, “Since Joy thinks she knows everything about games, she’ll seek and we’ll hide.”

Before Joy could object, everyone already ran away to find a place to hide. She would have one hour to find them all or else she would lose.

Jon let his feet take him wherever they felt like going. He wasn’t very good at hiding and was always found very quickly, but this time he had a spot that no one would be able to find him. Sneaking into the castle, he barrowed a lantern that wasn’t being used and while no one was looking, descended down into the crypts of Winterfell. He began a long dash down stone steps into darkness that was only illuminated by the light of his lantern.

Entering the Crypts, he searched for the biggest statue of his ancestors he could find. “Why aren’t there any fat Starks?” He openly asked as he passed the statue of his grandfather Rickard.

After many twists and turns, Jon became lost. Maybe it would’ve been smarter to hide somewhere else rather than this. His father said that the crypts spread out farther than the castle itself. Trying to find his way back, Jon spent far too long than he hoped being in the crypts. He started to become scared and worried that he might not make it out. He looked for any familiar statue he could find, but the stone made them all look very similar. Some of them had direwolves at their sides, others held a steel replica of the Stark greatsword, Ice.

While trying to get his bearings, Jon tripped over his boot and fell on the ground. The lantern he carried broke and the light of the candle went out. He was now in complete darkness and had no idea where he was. He could be a mile away from the castle for all he knew.

“Somebody help me!” His shouts echoed throughout the crypts. He didn’t think he would get lost, he just wanted to win at Hide and Seek for once. He crawled on all fours all felt the ground with his hands, searching for anything. He cut some of his fingers on the glass of the lantern and winced back. Finally, he found the foot of one of the tombs. Feeling scared beyond his imagination, Jon curled up at the base of the statue in front of the tomb and began to cry. He didn’t know how long he was in the crypts, but it felt much longer than an hour.

He lost track of whether he was awake or not, but he did feel the ethereal presence of someone near him. He shivered as the cold depths of the tombs pierced through his cloak to his skin. But in the cold, felt a warm hand over his face. A thumb caressed his check and wiped at his tears. Whoever it was holding him was a woman. The hand was far too soft and small to belong to a man.

“Who’s there?” Jon asked.

In a pure instance of silence, the faintest voice sounded in the darkness, quieter than a whisper. ‘I am.’

“Jon!” Ser Rodrick’s voice echoed throughout the crypts. The light of a torch appeared at the end of the hallway Jon was in. All senses shot through Jon as hope rose within him.

“Over here!” Jon replied. Ser Rodrick and two other Stark guards found him lying down at one of the statues.

“Seven hells boy,” Rodrick told him, “what possessed you to come down here alone?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get lost.”

Ser Rodrick handed his torch to one of the men with him and picked Jon up in his arms. “No one ever means to get lost, Jon. That’s why you make sure you know how to find your way back.”

Jon nodded to Ser Rodrick as he was lifted off the ground. “There’s someone else here.” Jon told him.

“Who?”

“A woman, she was behind me.” Jon turned his head, but only saw the statue of his aunt Lyanna.

“The darkness can play tricks on your mind Jon,” Rodrick told him.

Jon was certain that someone was with him, but maybe it was only a dream. By the time they came out of the crypts, the snow stopped falling and the skies cleared. The world was on the edge of night, the light of the sun almost faded from the sky.

“Jon!” Robb shouted as the entered the courtyard. “Where was he?”

“Asleep in the crypts in front of Lady Lyanna.”

“Will he be alright Ser Rodrick?”

“He’ll be fine. He just needs a bath to warm him up.” Ser Rodrick assured Robb.

As Jon was being carried to the castle, he saw Lady Catelyn on the balcony. She looked relieved, but probably only because his father would blame her for whatever happened to him. Standing next to her was that man who he helped with Hodor, looking at him curiously.

* * *

 

 

Petyr

Night gathered over the lands and all were nearing their time to sleep with the rest of the world. Resting comfortably on his bed, Petyr found himself unable to feel the weight of sleep pulling his down on his eyelids. He was more awake than he ever was, all because he couldn’t manage to get Jon Snow out of his mind. Something about that boy bothered him in his deepest thoughts, yet he couldn’t tell what it was.

_‘I’ve Met Ned before Robert’s Rebellion at Harrenhal. He never struck anyone as the kind to break a vow or do anything even as little as tell a lie. He was a man among ten thousand people said. He had a great attraction to Ashara Dayne, and so did Brandon. I think I once heard a rumor that she was the boy’s mother, but little do they know what I do about her and Brandon. It truly was a tragedy that about their child that drove her to kill herself. Tough Ned killing her brother is probably what drove her over the edge. Now that I think about it, I used to think Arthur was like how Ned is now. But he did his duty to his prince and kept Lyanna a prisoner. One would think he would be sensible and let free a woman kidnapped and raped by the son of the Mad King. No one would’ve thought that Rhaegar had the madness in him. He was too beautiful of a man for anyone to care. Maybe the maddest thing he did was crown Lyanna his queen at the tourney. Robert was furious and all Rhaegar did was smile at her. I can still remember how his face looked. Just like Jon Snow…’_

A thousand thoughts flooded through Petyrs head when he had a sudden epiphany. As if in an instant, all possibilities showed themselves in front of him. He sat up from his bed and gaze at the walls around him. That familiar part of Jon Snow’s face, he looked exactly like Rhaegar, but with Lyanna’s colors. _‘What if Ned Stark’s bastard isn’t his? He has never said to Cat that he is his father, only his blood. What if a fever isn’t what killed Lyanna Stark, but childbirth? Why would Ned claim the boy as his? Elia’s children were butchered by the Mountain, and he was rewarded by Robert for it. There would be no way that a bastard of Rhaegar and Lyanna would be given even a once of mercy, but Ned would protect his family at any cost, even his honor._

Petyr started to uncontrollably chuckle quietly to himself. With a secret like this, it could start another war. There would be no situation that Eddard Stark would hand over his blood to be executed by Robert, and there would be no situation that Eddard Stark wouldn’t forgive and forget if an assassin killed the boy.

_‘But then again, what if the boy isn’t? What if it is all just sheer coincidence? If the boy is indeed Stark’s bastard, then it will be even more pleasurable. Robert will be easy to convince, and Eddard won’t forgive him for killing his blood. Targaryen or Stark, the boy is still a bastard who can make wonderful things happen. At least for me.’_

 If a war broke out between the North and the crown, it would be as bloody as the rebellion. But if things played out right, maybe both the King and the Warden of the North would be out of the picture, and the Iron Throne freed from the Baratheon’s and the Lannisters, leaving it empty for someone better to claim its seat. But everything rested on the bastard’s life. If he was killed, and a faint trail lead to someone, say the Lannisters, to be thought responsible, then all the North will cry for war. And if things played out perfectly, then the woman he loved would be widowed, and free for him to claim what should have been his long ago.

“So the game begins.”


	2. Victories and Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Greyjoy Rebellion nears its end and Ned tries to comfort a child in an unfortunate position. Then Robert is given news that shocks him beyond his belief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess updates may be quicker than I thought since I'm having trouble with the next chapter of Night Dragons. Enjoy
> 
> Warning, mild sexual content

Robert

In all of Robert's years, he never imagines to have any love for the Iron Islands. But now that he was here, it had everything he could want, save for some decent whores, or women for that matter. But aside from that, clear skies, the wonderful smell of the ocean, a warm sun, and an Ironborn to kill wherever he looked.

With the walls of Pyke finally breached, Robert followed Ned and the other Northerners into what would be the final battle of the Greyjoy rebellion. The Ironborn were outnumbered ten to one and they still fought back, exactly what he was hoping for.

Swinging his mighty Warhammer, Robert smashed the massive steel head square on the side of an Ironborn's head, completely obliterating everything into a bloody mush. He let out a bellowing laugh as more desperately tried to fight back but failed beyond their misery. One of the damned sailors nearly succeeded in running a blade through Robert had a Northerner not run the man first and saved Robert's life. "Seven hells!" Robert exclaimed with a gleeful grin. "Twas almost the death of me!" He bashed his hammer into another Ironborn, killing him instantly. "I'll have you knighted for that!" The Northerner looked surprised just before on of the towers of Pyke was hit by a catapult attack and began to crumble. Soldiers from both sides began to flee out of the towers path of collapse, but Robert wanted as many of these damn rebels dead as he could get.

Charging to the fleeing men, Robert grabbed hold of an Ironborn's spaulder and threw him back into the path of the tower. The Ironborn was just a lad, no older than twenty, and the look of despair he had on his face before the stone fell and crushed him was absolutely marvelous. The part of him left unscathed was an arm and his legs. Unfortunately, he was the only one to die by the falling tower. Robert took a deep breath and savored every moment of the fight.

It was at this point the rest of the rebels laid down their arms and fell on their knees, surrendering.

"Damn," Robert muttered under his breath, "wish I could've spilled more blood." He looked around at the men waiting for his command. "THE CASTLE IS OURS!" Despite not having actually taken the castle, only the courtyard, it was clear that this was the end. Balon had no more men to oppose him, which meant the battle and the Greyjoy Rebellion was over. Robert raised his hammer into the air and all the men cheered around him.

Searching past the men, Robert spotted his favorite Northerner wielding his family's incredibly huge Valyrian Greatsword, Ice. Ned was shaking hands with that crazed red priest who led the charge into the breach. "Come on, Ned!" Robert ordered, "we have a man pretending to be a king to break."

Ned rolled his eyes at Robert as he followed him into the castle with the Kingslayer and Ser Barristan catching up. Of course Ned would be the only one without a cheer in the world right now. He never had the same taste for war and blood as Robert did. 'War and Blood, now those words should be the Baratheons.'

Robert nearly got carried away before they all entered the main hall of Pyke. Standing with his back turned at him was 'King' Balon. Hiding next to the Salt Throne were his youngest children, a chubby little girl and a skinny boy.

"It's over?" Balon openly asked.

"If you have a question, you better look me in the fucking eyes, Greyjoy." Robert demanded.

Balon turned around, but his eyes couldn't lift from the floor.

"Your armies are broken, your fleet burned into the ocean, and your castle crumbling. Do you surrender?"

Balon's jaw started to shake as he took his time to let the words come out of his mouth. "I surrender."

Robert didn't want him to surrender, he wanted his head on spike. But being a King meant he had to follow 'honorable' standards. But he still would make sure Balon knew his place. "I couldn't hear you, Greyjoy. You'd better speak louder so we can all hear you."

Balon's fists clenched as he repeated his words. "I surrender!"

"Louder, gods damn you!"

"I SURRENDER!" Balon's shouts echoed through the halls of Pyke and out to the courtyard. The man looked utterly distraught and ashamed at his loss. Less than half of what Robert hoped for, but it would have to do for now.

Robert walked up to the shivering man, his Kingsguard and Ned stay close by, and slammed the pommel of his Warhammer on the stone floor. "Kneel and lay that pitiful crown at my feet." If anyone would call a bundle of sticks nailed together a crown.

Balon did as ordered as removed his driftwood crown form his head and placed it hesitantly on the cold stone floor.

"I, Robert of the House Baratheon, King of Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Protector… oh fuck it all. I accept your surrender, Greyjoy. And to make sure you remember this day…" Without warning, Robert gripped his Warhammer in both hands and raised it above his head.

"Robert, no!" Ned shouted in protest.

He swung his hammer down with all strength, landing it on the crown before him and barely missing Balon's head. The crowned was instantly destroyed into nothing but splinters and cracking the stone beneath it. Robert relished the look of shock in everyone's faces. "Do you all think so little of me to kill an unharmed old man?" He let out a great laugh that no one cared to join. "Bring his children forward." Robert ordered.

Balon's body started to shake and he kept his eyes to the ground as the two children were forced to stand before Robert. "Where's the other one?" Robert inquired. "The eldest was killed at Seaguard, the second born should be somewhere in the castle." He looked down at the kneeling man. "Where's your son, damn you!"

"Your grace," one of the Northerners said as he stepped forward. All eyes fell on him, including Balon's. "Maron Greyjoy was crushed under the falling tower."

So that's who the boy was. "Damn," Robert muttered as he turned his gaze to the young boy in the arms of his chubby sister, "then we'll make do with the new heir. Bring the boy forward." A pair of arms separated the boy from his sister and he began to cry as he was forced to his knees. "What's your name you little bastard?"

"Th-Theon Greyjoy." The boy croaked past his tears.

"Tell me, how do you think I should punish your idiot rebel father for all the trouble he's caused?"

The boy looked ready to piss himself he was so scared. "I-I don't know."

"So many options, but I want to get off this fucking island as soon as I can. Should I strip your father of his titles and lands? Or maybe I should kill you, leave him with no heirs until he can squirt another up some woman's filthy cunt."

"Robert!" Ned interjected as he stepped forward. "The battle is won and there are already more dead than needs be."

Robert just chuckled at Ned's objection. "Can none of you have a sense of jesting in these troubled times? It seems not. Balon of the House Greyjoy, I will allow you to remain Lord of the Iron Islands and keep what you call a kingdom. But only on the condition that your last son will become a hostage of the crown to ensure your loyalty. Do you accept, or do you have a better idea?" He asked mockingly.

Robert could feel the anger radiating from Balon and begged to the Seven to give him an excuse to kill the man, but it was not to be. "I accept the terms." They boy's eyes widened and the tears flowed harder down his cheeks.

"Then I declare this Rebellion over, and victory to the crown." While the Men cheered for him, Robert walked right up to Ned. "Since you seem to value the boy's life, I leave him in your care as your ward."

"Robert-"

"You've already brought one bastard to your home from war, I'm sure your wife won't mind another." Ned only looked upset and disappointed. Robert didn't care if it would trouble him. "If needs be, I'll send a raven to Winterfell saying it's by my orders. Your wife's an obedient woman, I'm sure she'll not question the crown's authority."

Ned only sighed out his frustration. "Thank you, your grace."

Robert caught sight of the Northerner who saved his life during the battle. "You," He pointed at the the man, "step forward and tell me your name."

"Jorah Mormont of Bear Island."

"Bear Island? I hear the women are ferocious in battle as they are in bed." Finally, a few other men joined Robert in a small laugh. "You fought valiantly and saved the life of your King when the Kingsguard couldn't. Kneel." Jorah did as ordered by his king and bowed his head down. "Jorah Mormont, do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king, to fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"

"I swear it, by the old gods and the new." Jorah responded.

"Then rise, Ser Jorah, knight of Bear Island." When Jorah rose to his feet, he looked proud, but also like he had the unsustainable urge to piss.

"Now then, the war is won! Send the ravens to let the kingdoms know of our victory, and bring me some damn wine!"

* * *

Ned

With Pyke secured and the war won, Eddard kept to himself on his ship for the next few days. In his cabin, he sat at his desk, writing a letter to Catelyn, explaining his experience and the guest they would be receiving soon.

_-Dear Cat_

_We have secured Pyke and defeated the Ironborn. However, to ensure utter loyalty from Balon Greyjoy, Robert has ordered that Balon's last remaining son Theon be a hostage of the crown and that I must house him as my ward. I will be sailing for Torrhen's Square in the morning. I will write again when we land and hopefully hear from you by then_

_-Ned_

He would've written more if the parchment was bigger, but the ravens could only carry quick messages. Stamping the scroll with the direwolf seal, Ned brought it to a raven available to him and sent it away, hoping that his next letter could be more of his opinion on the matter.

He didn't want to take the boy as his ward, he shouldn't. But anywhere else and the boy might be killed or become so miserable that he would kill himself. Either way, he didn't have a choice and would do the best he could to care for the boy, maybe even bring him to become a better man than his father.

No matter what happened, Ned was stuck with the care and responsibility for the boy. It was almost evening and he had time to kill, so he decided that maybe he should at least introduce himself to the boy before they left.

Followed by Jory and four other of his guard, Ned returned to the castle which was now under heavy guard of both his men and the Royal Army. The Ironborn were very scare, keeping to the docks and villages on the island until the armies left. Balon locked himself in his chambers after seeing the desecrated corpse of his son, Maron. He wouldn't come out unitl Robert and the armies left the Iron Islands, not even for his surviving children.

Ned suspected that he was the only one to see what Robert did. It was barbaric and inhumane to kill a boy like that. Ned was accustomed to war and killed boys just as young when Robert rebelled against the Targaryens, but never did he do something so… evil.

Finally at the door of Theon Greyjoy's room, Ned turned to Jory and his guard. "Wait outside."

"Yes, my lord." Jory responded.

Ned knocked twice on the door before cracking it open.

"Come in," a sad boy's voice responded.

Ned opened the door the rest of the way and entered the room, surprised to see hardly any posessions inside. The only things present were a bed, desk, and a cold fireplace. Theon was sitting in the corner of the room with his knees pulled to his chest and a small rucksack beside him.

Once he saw who entered his room, Theon rushed to his knees and bowed to Ned, most likely out of fear. "Forgive me, my lord Stark. I didn't know it was you."

"You don't need to bow lad. Stand up."

Theon slowly rose to his feet but didn't make eye contact with him. Ned began to massage his temple as he tried to think of what to do next. He wasn't about to give a lecture to his sons or a lesson his father gave him when he was a boy. He was facing a child who was nothing but a hostage now.

Pulling the chair from the desk to the side of the bed, Ned gestured his arm for Theon to sit down. He did so slowly but continued to surrender his eyes to the ground.

"Do you know anything about Winterfell?"

Theon just shook his head.

"I can tell you it's one of the oldest castles in all of Westeros, built by my ancestor Brandon the Builder. The Same man who built the Wall and the Hightower. The halls are warm, even in the coldest of winters. In the crypts, there are Stark buried from thousands of years ago."

Theon didn't seem very intrigued at the history and architecture, which only made things more awkward.

"I don't know what it is you expect out of this, whether you think you'll be caged in a dark cell or something like that, it won't be the case." Theon finally got the courage to look up at the him. "You'll be raised with my sons, Robb and Jon. You'll have your own room and freedom to roam the castle grounds."

"But I'm still going to be your hostage." Theon reminded.

Now Ned was the one who was looking at the ground. "You're my ward now, Theon Greyjoy. Many will say that you are just a hostage of war to keep your father from causing trouble, but I swear to you that you will treated as one of my own. We don't have many knights in the North, but if you desired I could arrange for you to squire for one that lives in Winterfell. And when you grow older into a fine man, I might even be able to convince Robert to let you return here."

For the first time since he saw the boy, Ned saw a glimmer of hope in the Theon. "Do you really think so?"

In all truth, Robert wouldn't let Theon leave Ned's custody until Balon died and the next Greyjoy needed to rule over Pyke. "I swear to you that one day, you'll sail back to Pyke as your own man."

Theon only responded with a small nod. Their time together was interrupted by a knock on the door followed by Jory's voice.

"Lord Stark, the King has ordered we set sail before nightfall."

This was irregular. Robert said he wanted to rest until tomorrow. He got sea sick when he tried to sleep on a moving boat. "I guess we have less time than I hoped." Ned got up from his seat and approached the door, but looked back to Theon. "If you wish to know more about my home, we can talk when we set sail. Just don't forget that it will be your home as well, not a prison others will say it to be."

At the docks, Ned waited for Theon to say his farewell to his older sister Yara. He didn't know when they would see each other again, but he hoped it wouldn't be too long. But to Ned's disgust, Balon didn't even have the nerve to see off his last son.

As Theon boarded the ship, Robert finally showed up, looking very drunk.

"Is something the matter?" Ned asked.

"Hah!" Robert bellowed, "not at all. In fact I've decided to make a stop at Winterfell before I go back to the shit stinking city. We have to have a victory feast of course! And there's no place better than the North!"

This wasn't at all a shock to Ned. Jon Arryn warned him of Robert's spontaneous desires for pleasurable events and constant feasting.

Ned just rolled his eyes and decided that maybe something like this is what he needed to get out of the sullen mood of war. Before he boarded himself, Ned spotted the red priest sitting idly by drinking from a flask. Ned was with him during the charge into Pyke, and if it weren't for him, Ned would've died on this wretched island.

He walked over to the old priest and got a terrible whiff of his scent. The red priest reeked of alcohol, worse that Robert, but he wasn't near as fat.

"Lord Eddard Stark," the priest spoke out in a hoarse voice, "what can I do for you before you depart?"

"The King has decided to have a feast in Winterfell to celebrate our victory. I owe you a debt, and would like to extend my hospitality and ask that you join us."

The priest's brow arched high, nearly meeting his receding hairline. "First time any lord's invited me to a feast. I'll gladly accept that offer." He got to his feet and joined Ned onto the ship.

As the sun finally reach the horizon and met the ocean, the armies that defeated the Ironborn departed from Pyke. Ned stood with Theon Greyjoy as the boy rested on the ship's railing and watched his home disappear into the distance.

* * *

Robert

With the ship anchored and docked in the late afternoon, Robert was the first one to disembark the ship and set foot into Torrhen's Square. He was greeted by Helman Tallhart as he reached the end of the docks. "Welcome, your Grace." Lord Tallhart knelt down as did a great number behind him.

"Stand up, my lord." Robert ordered.

"I must ask forgiveness. Had we known you'd be joining Lord Eddard, we would have prepared a greater entourage for your arrival."

"The best thing you can do to make up for it, is point me to the best brothel you have." It had been six months since he's fucked a woman, but even longer since he's had a good one to fuck, especially his wife.

Lord Tallhart forced a smile Robert didn't care about. "Of course, I'll have one of my men show you to the town's favored establishment. But you may care to know that we've had several ravens from the capitol arrive before you did."

Seven hells, whatever it was, Jon Arryn could take care of the matters himself. It was the only thing he was good for as his Hand. "Ned!" Robert called as Ned disembarked the ship with Theon Greyjoy staying close to him. "Be a brother to me and take a look at what Lord Arryn wants."

"Robert, I'm not a member of the court. It would be improper for me."

"I'm the bloody King and I say whoever gives you shit can go fuck a goat. Take some time and see what our good father wants. Right now, I need wine and women." Robert stared back at Lord Tallhart for a moment before firmly responding. "Now."

Lord Tallhart chuckled nervously before one of his men stepped before the king. "If you'll follow me, your grace."

"Finally." It had been two miserable weeks at sea and not enough blood was spilled by his Warhammer to satisfy him. The last thing he wanted to do was return to his duties as a King. Maybe if Ned handled it fairly well, he'd name him to be his next Hand.

Winter was over and a new season was just beginning. 'Wonder how many times I can make the eight by next winter?'

Everyone in the brothel became absolutely stunned to see the King 'gracing' them with his presence as he entered. He was giving the best girl the place had, despite her already in use.

Before he entered the room offered, Robert turned to Ser Barristan and the Kingslayer. "Unless you plan on getting your own whores, stand your vigil outside the bloody establishment, or see to it that Lord Stark doesn't need help with anything. But by the Seven leave me some peace." He slammed the door in their faces and hungered for the large buxom finally open for him.

It was only an hour later that he finally had his fill and so did the whore. "Never had that much in me before. Don't know if any moon tea will keep that much at bay."

"I don't care if you spawn a little bastard. I've got half a dozen already. Just don't think you can get anything from me because of it." Roberts laced his breeches back up, but noticed his gut was beginning to obstruct his vison of hands at his balls.

"Believe me, my King, I plan on keeping this one. How else do you prove you've been fucked by royalty?"

Robert laughed with her as he pulled his shirt over his body. Despite wanting to continue, Robert wasn't cruel enough to force all his duties to Ned.

"Oh, your grace, I nearly forgot." The whore crawled over the bed to a nightstand and retrieved a sealed scroll resting on it. "Someone left this for you before you arrived. I was told it was for your eyes only." She held it out for him and Robert took it without question. There was no indication of who it was from, but Robert opened it regardless. He only unraveled it half way when he noticed the whore watching him.

"What part of for my eyes only do you not understand?" Robert growled. "Get out."

"I'm sorry, your grace, but I can't walk." Usually that would be a compliment, but Robert had too much to do right now to care and the faster he took care of the damn scroll the better. Luckily, there was someone standing vigil outside the room despite his orders.

"Selmy!" Robert shouted. Ser Barristan entered the room, looking displeased to be where he was. "Help her out while I finish dressing."

"Yes, your grace." Ser Barristan walked over to the bed and extended a hand to the whore as she covered herself with her dress. Despite his age, he picked her up and carried her out of the room with ease, finally leaving Robert alone.

He unraveled to the scroll completely and read what was written.

The children of the Mad King hide in Essos, but there is one more child in Westeros with the blood of the dragon. Should you wish to know more, come to the ship with sails baring a winged goblet after nightfall. Leave the Kingsguard at the docks.

Robert's blood began to boil when he read those words. Another fucking Targaryen? If the message didn't say 'child', then he would've thought it to be that old fool at Castle Black. Had that been the case, Robert wouldn't have cared. But this peeked his interest and rage to imagine another dragon spawn still alive in Westeros. Crunching the scroll in his hand, Robert hurried to get himself dressed and prayed to the gods the night would come fast.

The time it could for darkness to envelope the sky was too long even though the spring evenings were fairly early.

The Kingslayer's shift was over and now only Ser Barristan kept his watch over the King as Robert boarded a ship that matched the description in the scroll. He told no one, not even Ned, about the information he received.

The entire vessel was completely abandoned. Not one to be foolish enough to fall into a trap, Robert kept his hand cautiously around the hilt of his sword as did Ser Barristan.

The door to the captain's cabin slowly creaked open, adding a sense of haunting to the ships presence. The tiny light of lanterns illuminated the inside of the room and Robert walked inside and saw a single figure sitting down at a table. Whoever it was kept his hood up and let shadow cloak his face.

"As you can see," the cloaked man said, "we are alone and I, unarmed."

"Oh, I see perfectly," Robert told him, "but the one thing I can't see is your face. Either take the hood off or I cut it off with your head still in it."

The stranger chuckled at Robert's enthusiasm. "Forgive me for the precaution, your grace. But you can imagine the knowledge I have is best said without anyone besides you knowing the source." He gestured a finger to Ser Barristan.

After scanning the room enough to know that no shadow inside was strong enough to hide any assassin, Robert nodded. "Wait at the docks, Selmy."

"Your Grace," Ser Barristan protested, "I cannot leave you alone-"

"I just gave you a command, and what is your duty as a Kingsguard?"

"… To obey my King's command." Ser Barristan sighed out.

"Close the door behind you."

Ser Barristan did as he was commanded, almost slamming the door behind him.

"Now then," the stranger said as he revealed his face, "allow me to introduce myself-"

"Petyr fucking Baelish." Robert stated. "I've been to your brothels many times before, you think I wouldn't recognize you?"

"Considering how drunk you were each time, I'm surprised that you do." Petyr jested.

Robert snorted as he took a seat opposite of him. "Now then, 'Littlefinger,' explain to me why you think there's another Targaryen."

Petyr cleared his throat, a hint of nervousness emanating from him. "As you and the rest of the world know, there are three known Targaryens left alive. Maester Aemon Targaryen of Castle Black, sworn and chained to the Citadel and the Night's Watch, and then the two children who escaped your forces during the rebellion, Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen."

"Thank you for the reminder, now get on with it or I'll have your head for making me miss a night with some of the best women the North has to offer."

Petyr straightened himself in his seat, looking poise and too satisfied to be here. "Tell me, how many children were born from the seed of Rhaegar Targaryen?"

"Two, Aegon and Rhaenys. But they're both dead. I saw their bodies laid before me in the Red Keep."

"Yes, I and the whole of Westeros know about that fateful day. To the world, they were the only of offspring. But a fortnight ago, I heard a rather bit of new information about someone that just felt too… coincidental to not be true."

"And do tell, before I lose my patience and choke it out of you." If there was another spawn of Rhaegar fucking Targaryen, then no pain in the world would bring the secret out faster than what Robert's rage could inflict.

"Of course. First you must know, that Aegon and Rhaenys were the only children Elia Martell bore to Rhaegar. I must warn you, the identity of the other mother might be a bit… shocking to hear."

"Why in the name of the god's would I care about who the mother is?"

"Because it is Lyanna Stark who is the mother."

Robert lost all control when he heard the words of this little man dishonor his true love in such a way. He shoved the table aside and charged forward at Petyr, grabbing hold of his neck and slamming him on the wall behind him.

"You dare... defile the memory of the only woman I ever loved in this world?" Robert's bore his teeth like a wild animal as his grip tightened immensely.

"Please… I can… explain…"

There was a knock on the door to the cabin. "Your grace!" Ser Barristan called. "Is everything alright?"

"Begone with you Selmy!" Robert shouted. As the sound of Ser Barristan's footsteps disappeared, Robert looked back to Petyr whose face was beginning to purple and eyes turning bloodshot. "Choose your next words carefully, and then I will see if you worth the effort to kill myself."

With Petyr's last bit of breath, he only managed to squeak out three words. "Ned… Stark's… Bastard…"

Robert's eyes widened as he loosened his grip on Petyr. The man fell on his knees and desperately regathered the air he lost.

"You have my praise, Baelish." Robert told him, "you've just earn another minute to live. Use it wisely and tell me what Ned's bastard has to do with this."

Petyr spared no delay as he got to his feet. "Before I came here, I stopped at Winterfell to visit an old friend of mine, Lady Catelyn Stark. We got into conversation about the boy and I learned that he was born in Dorne around the same time that Ned Stark found his sister. He came back with a baby and told the world that Lyanna died of a fever. But what if that wasn't the case? What if she died giving birth to Rhaegar's product of rape to her? I didn't think twice on it, but the boy bares a remarkable resemblance to Rhaegar."

"Are you saying that Ned lied to me and is hiding a fucking dragon spawn as his own son?"

"The bastard may be a Targaryen, but if what I saying is true, then he is also a Stark. You know Eddard Stark better than most people in the world. If he had the choice between protecting the blood of his sister at the cost of his honor or letting the baby befall the same fate of his half siblings, which would he choose?"

Robert wanted to punch Petyr for insulting Ned's loyalty to him, but he couldn't stop himself from considering the possibility. Ned was very opposed to the justice served to Elia and her children. He remembered Ned telling him that a child is not guilty of the sins of the father. Could the bastard really be Rhaegar's? The only way to know for sure was to see the boy himself. Robert had Rhaegar's face memorized from every time he killed him in his dreams, and if there was enough of a resemblance…

"Tomorrow I begin the ride for Winterfell. When I get there, I'll see for myself if there is any resemblance. If there isn't and I find out that you've tried to play me into turning on a man I consider my brother, then I'll have you suffer the same fate Rhaegar did, expect it will be your head that meets my hammer."

"But if I'm right?" Petyr asked, keeping himself calm and composed.

"Then I'll rain hell on Ned for betraying me like this."

"If you plan on declaring war against the Starks," Petyr interjected, "I would advise you not to. For it would be a war you wouldn't win."

"You dare-"

"I only say that based on the odds, and when you look at them, they are not in you favor. If you declare war on the North, it won't just be them you'll have to face. Eddard Stark's good father, Hoster Tully, will side with him to protect his daughter and grandchildren. Lord Jon Arryn, though loyal to you, favors Ned more and sided with him when Aegon and Rhaenys were displayed in the throne room of the Red Keep, and would most likely give the Vale to him. Dorne may take this chance to seek revenge against you, and the Reach is a wild card, having reason to side with either you our Ned Stark. Should they desire favors from the crown, they'll surrender to loyalty to you. But if they see that Ned Stark would be better to side with for certain reasons, then you'll lose the greatest number of soldiers in Westeros. Should the odds become the worst, it will be a war of ten against one."

"And what 'certain reasons' would there be for the Reach to side with the North than instead of the crown?" Robert inquired.

Petyr cleared his throat and looked nervous to answer. " I mean no insult directly, but while there are those in court that call you the King of the Stags, there are also those that call you the King of the Drunks and Whores. Personally I always keep respect highest to those that clearly have the reasons to have it. But for others it is transforming into humor for them.

Robert knew how people saw him as a king. Nothing but a drunken man getting fat and who does nothing but whore and feast. As much as Robert didn't want to admit, but the man was right. Robert knew war better than being a King, and should the realms flock to Ned, then he would lose.

"But there is a way you can win the war before it even begins."

Robert had to take a moment to realize what he was doing. Plotting against Ned? What was the matter with him? For all he knew this flesh peddler could be playing him. But then again, what if Baelish was right? What if Ned is hiding a Targaryen? Maybe Ned sought to replace him with the little bastard on the Iron Throne.

"Go on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews, Constuctive Criticism, and comments are appreciated.


	3. A Welcome Home

Cat

_-Ned_

_I cannot express in mere words my reaction to what you have told me in your last letter. Harboring a hostage as a ward, and a Greyjoy of all people. Why on earth would you accept such a responsibility like that? When you return, I would have further words and plead you to convince Robert to change his mind. For the first time, there will be someone I tolerate less than your bastard._

_-Catelyn_

In truth, Catelyn still loathed the bastard's presence more than she would a Greyjoy. But at least Snow knew his place and kept to himself at most times. A Greyjoy would probably bring with him a fowl influence, vile attitudes and sinful desires. But as much as she wanted to worry about that, she would have to wait until Ned got here since she was up to her waist in duties and preparations for a feast demanded by the King himself and overseeing that everyone did pulled their weight.

Though winter was over, the stores of grain and other food would have to last another six months before the crops would be bearing eligible food to eat, and a feast would only shorten their supply even faster.

Catelyn was in the Great Hall with Maester Luwin, observing the servants setting up the platform for the High Table and decorations along the walls. The candle stands were cleaned of hardened wax covering the metal and polished. A tapestry of the castle was taken down and replaced by Banners of the Northern Houses that fought, Stark, Mormont, Tallhart, Glover. In the center of them was newly made Banner for House Baratheon. The North wasn't the fanciest of places, but as long as it appeared cleaned and at least half as good as Riverrun would be like hosting a feast, then it would suffice.

"Have you checked our food stores?" Catelyn asked Maester Luwin.

"Yes, my Lady. We were conservative of our rations during the Winter and have just enough to spare for such an occasion. So long as the King and his personal guard are the only ones that come, we have nothing to worry about."

"And what about my father, did he accept the invitation to join us? He did fight for the King after all, he might as well be celebrated as well."

"He had to decline, my Lady. Your brother Edmure wrote that he has fallen sick with a small fever. Nothing to serious, but enough to keep him bed ridden."

This disappointed Catelyn. After having a visit from Petyr, a bit of nostalgia for home arose within her and she hoped that her father would be able to meet his grandchildren, especially his new grandson.

Something troubling took her mind off her father as she noticed a miscount of chairs being placed at the High Table. Including the children, save for Bran, there should only be six chairs, but there was seven. "Who's the extra seat for?" Catelyn inquired.

"Extra seat?" Maester Luwin asked, confused.

"There are seven seats at the High table, but there should only be six. One for the King, obviously, Ned and myself, Robb, Sansa, and Arya. Bran is far too young."

"My Lady, I believe the 'extra' seat is for Jon."

"The bastard? Who thought to seat him there?"

"I did, Lady Stark. He is our Lord's son after all."

Catelyn became infuriated that Maester Luwin would even think to involve little demon in something of such great prestige. "He's a bastard. He will sit with the masses and be grateful that he even gets to be in the same castle as the King."

"Lady Catelyn, I don't think that would-"

"That is my command to you." She looked at him sternly in the eyes and didn't blink until he submitted.

"Yes, my Lady. I'll have the arranging fixed before the day's end."

Catelyn left the Great Hall and Maester Luwin followed her outside to the courtyard. "Have the hunters return yet?"

"They returned an hour ago. Their haul consists of two full grown deer, a two dozen rabbits, a doe, and a wild boar. That should be more than enough to feed everyone in attendance."

"Lord Stark and the King are left Castle Cerwyn three days ago. We need the meats the hunters bring skinned and cured before the get here. What about the children? Have they been groomed yet?"

"Tommy is trimming them this very moment."

Catelyn didn't want to say it, but she didn't have much of a choice. "Make sure Snow looks his finest as well. I don't need him being a sulking mess when Lord Stark returns."

Catelyn scanned the walls and saw very few men standing by on watch. Ser Rodrick was being assisted by Hodor nearby at the stables and noticed her approaching him.

"Lady Stark." He said with a bow of his head.

"Hodor." The giant man said with a smile as always.

"Ser Rodrick, when the men return, I want the guard to be doubled." Balon may have surrendered, but that didn't mean his war was over. "Some Ironborn might seize this chance to take revenge for their so called King of the Iron Islands."

"I doubt that will be the case as long as we have the heir to the Greyjoy's as a hostage, but I'll see to it that it's tripled."

There was a sudden sound of a girl crying that broke through the noise all around. Catelyn and those around her turned their heads and saw Sansa running through the courtyard, her arm was covering her face in an obvious attempt to hide her tears.

"Sansa!" Catelyn got in her way and knelt down to her daughter. "What on earth is the matter?"

Sansa's eyes were red from her tears and she looked absolutely miserable. "Arya!" She nearly screamed out. "She pulled my hair when I was getting it cut and Tommy took off too much!" Sansa grabbed a lock of her red hair and revealed that it was cut short to her shoulders. It was visibly obvious and no chance whatsoever to be hidden.

"Come here," Catelyn pulled Sansa into her arms and hugged her softly and rubbed her back. Though her duties as Lady of the castle were keeping her busy, she also had her duties as a mother to tend to as well. She turned her attention back to Rodrick and Maester Luwin. "Let's conclude our business for now, but we'll resume before the evening."

They both bowed their heads and went about their business.

Cat turned her gaze to the great giant of a man. "Hodor, would you mind finding Arya and bringing her to her nursemaid? I think she needs to go to bed."

"Hodor." He said happily as he walked away.

"I hate her!" Sansa confessed. "She's always acting like a stupid boy and embarrassing me! Now I'm going to look hideous in front of father!"

"Now Sansa, Arya's just a little babe who doesn't understand half the things she does."

"But she was laughing at me when she did it."

That didn't surprise Catelyn. Arya was very wild for a babe, even for a person. It was she had wolf blood in her. But given that she was the only one of her children that did look more Stark than Tully, it made sense.

"Just giver her time. She still has much growing up to do, and soon the two of you will become inseparable. Now come on, let's go see if Tommy can fix what's been done." Catelyn took Sansa's hand and walked her back to Tommy's workplace.

When they got there, Robb waited patiently as the bastard got his hair cut. Neither he nor Tommy notice Catelyn and Sansa walking in.

"Honestly Snow," Tommy say as he did the bastard's ends, "do these curls ever end?"

Robb seemed to get a laugh out that. "If he were a girl he'd be the prettiest one from the Wall to Dorne!" He teased.

"Shut up Stark!" Snow spat back.

Robb merely laughed at him until he realized Catelyn and Sansa. "Mother!" Robb straightened himself and Tommy flinched as made another cut, missing his intended mark.

"Dammit!" Tommy exclaimed. "I swear I've never missed once until you children came into my care."

Catelyn cleared her throat and gained Tommy's attention. He turned to look at her and became wide eyed. "Lady Stark. Forgive me, I was focusing on the boy and didn't realize you were there."

"I noticed." Catelyn looked down at the bastard and saw that he was the only one that wasn't looking at her, or rather he wouldn't because that was the was she preferred it. The less she had to see the face that was her husband's and the whore he soiled his honor with. "Are you done with him? I'd like for the 'accident' that happened to Sansa be fixed as quickly as possible."

Before Tommy could answer, the bastard got out of the seat and backed away. At least he knew his place. "Robb, why don't the two of you go get fitted."

"But mother," Robb groaned, "those suits are itchy."

"If you'd rather be at the feast naked for all to see, then go get fitted." Robb growled at her and placed his arm over Snow's shoulders.

"Come on Jon. If I to suffer this then so do you."

Catelyn watched as the two of them left but before they got out of sight Snow turned his head and made eye contact with her for only a brief second before shooting his head back to looking forward. She never could understand why Robb had such an attachment to the wretched creature. Then again, Snow was the boy in the castle that was Robb's age, or even close to it.

"Now then," Catelyn said as she turned back to Tommy, "let's fix this mess." Sansa sat down in Tommy's chair and he began to inspect her hair.

"No hair in the North is as red as yours little lady. Have no fear, when I'm done with it, you'll still be the prettiest girl in all the North." He cut of a long lock of Sansa's hair to match the length.

"I thought you said Jon was the prettiest." Sansa said.

Tommy just chuckled at her. "That's if he was a girl. But now that I think about, he probably is the prettiest boy in the North too." Sansa finally broke out of her saddened mood and giggled.

"Jon is pretty, isn't he." Sansa commented as Tommy lopped off more of her hair.

"That's enough, Sansa." Catelyn told her. Before turning her attention to Tommy. "She's in your hands now. Don't let me down."

"Would never dream to, milady." Tommy told her.

Catelyn returned to Ser Rodrick and Maester Luwin's company in her chambers. "Have the preparations for the King's chambers been made yet?"

"All but the wine and ale that was requested." Maester Luwin informed.

"Might want to put a whore in there as well." Ser Rodrick commented.

Catelyn scowled at ser Rodrick for his poor taste in humor, but the look on his face said that he wasn't joking. "I'll let that one slide, but please refrain from such remarks, Ser Rodrick."

"Forgive me, my lady."

Catelyn skimmed through three letters at once from the Northern Houses, all of them congratulating her for her husband's victory. She still had many more to go through, but the next scroll was sealed with the mark of the King's Hand. She broke the seal and unraveled the parchment.

_-Ned_

_I received your raven from Torrhen's Square and I apologize for not writing sooner. With Robert not returning to the capitol, I've been given more work than I can handle. In regards to the Greyjoy boy, I urge you to keep him safe within Winterfell's walls. The court is in turmoil against the Ironborn, calling for their extermination and islands to be burned, but they are too coward to say it and hide their feelings behind those smug faces of theirs. Enough convincing and who knows what they'd do to the child if he was brought here. All I can do is wish you luck and offer guidance when you need it._

_-Jon Arryn, Hand of the King Robert Baratheon_

Though Catelyn had to read many of the ravens meant for need, this one probably should have been for him alone. But regardless, she knew that once Ned read this he would be adamant to keep the Greyjoy boy in Winterfell. She sighed out as she rolled the scroll back up.

"Maester Luwin," she said.

"Yes?"

"See to it that Theon Greyjoy is given a proper bedroom rather than the guest room. It looks like he will be staying here after all."

He nodded solemnly to her before there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Catelyn called.

The door opened and one of Maester Luwin's assistants walked in. "Forgive me, milady," The man said, "but a raven came just now. It's from Lord Stark."

"Thank you. I'll take it." Catelyn held out her arm and the man placed the scroll in her hand and left. She unraveled it and read through it's contents. "Maester Luwin, tell the servants to double their work efforts. The King's party will be arriving tomorrow morning."

* * *

Ned

When Winterfell came into sight, the rebellion truly felt over and a weight lifted from Ned's heart. Though it wasn't even a year of a war, it felt much longer. He was finally home, finally able to see his children, and finally able to see Cat.

"Oh Ned," Robert slapped him hard on the back, "never has any castle marveled me more than Winterfell. It's not a giant set of perfumed glittering towers like the Red Keep, but a proper fortress as mighty as its history. No other like it in the world and not reeking of shit."

"You flatter me Robert. But if you're swooning this much, I hope you don't try to bed it when you get drunk." Ned jested. The two of them shared some laughter as brothers would. Robert once talked with him during the Rebellion about a possible union between their houses to seal their brotherhood but given that none of their children were even a decade into this world, Ned convinced him to wait.

Robert turned his head to everyone following on horseback. "Do you see this place, Greyjoy? Grander than those shit piles of rubble you Ironborn call castles."

As quickly as the mood rose, it was fast to fall. "Oh come on Ned," Robert said gruffly, "the moment I leave, that sulking mess will be nothing but what his people are. A snarky idiot with squid shit for brains. I swear, if he so much as lays a finger on your daughters, send word and I'll raise the Iron Islands to the ground."

"You doubt that I can make a man out of him?" Ned asked.

"Not all, but he will still be a boy long before that. And you and I both know how heated boys can get." Robert replied.

"I know how heated 'you' can get." Ned corrected. "If I remember correctly, I was in the training yard of the Eyrie while you were the one peeping into the women's baths."

"And the one time you finally came with me, you got caught." Robert laughed hoarsely again while Ned just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

 _'Actually, you got so drunk that you thought I was with you the entire time.'_ Ned kept his thoughts to himself as the rode through the gates of the castle. There they were, Cat, Robb, Sansa, Arya, and little Bran in the arms of his nursemaid. And behind them was Jon, hiding as always. Everyone bowed to their knees as he and Robert dismounted before the rest of the entourage.

"Rise up," Robert ordered. "I'm not one to keep a husband from his wife." Cat smiled as she got to her feet and was met with a tight embrace by Ned. They were surrounded by their children and their legs were squeezed with hugs. Though Jon remained where he was, but he had a happy look on his face which was pleasing to see given that it was rare for him to look that way.

Ned was finally released and he finally got a good look at his children.

"Father!" Robb said excitedly, "were the battles spectacular?"

 _'They never are.'_  "I'll be sure to tell you of all the adventures that happened. He turned his attention to Sansa and noticed something very odd. "Sansa, your hair." It was cut short and styled into a single short braid. Sansa began to look worried before Cat gave slight cough and gestured to her. "It looks very nice that way." Ned told her. Sansa brightened up before Arya stole the attention.

"Papa!" she called out. "Papa, up!" She held her arms out to be picked up, but given the current situation, he would have to postpone some time with his daughter.

"Tonight we'll play together, I promise my little wolf." She looked disappointed, but still remained happy. Finally, Bran. Ned leaned into the nursemaid and looked down at his sleeping son. "He looks strong."

Ned stepped back and allowed Robert his turn for introductions.

"Your grace." Cat said with a curtsey.

"Cat," Robert said, "you look absolutely wonderful." He gave her a friendly hug before turning his attention to the children. "Well now, you must be Robb."

Robb grew a big smile on his face. "Yes, your grace."

"Come on, show us all your muscles." Robb flexed his arm and Robert gave it a good squeeze. "You're gonna grow up to be stronger than your father." He turned his attention to Sansa. "And look at you. The ladies of the court would jealous of hair that gorgeous." Sansa so happy she was lost for words. "And that little rascal," He said looking at Arya, "she probably has wolf blood in her veins, just like her aunt." No doubt about that. Ever since Arya could crawl she was full of energy. The nursemaid stepped forward and presented Bran to him. Robert turned somber as he gazed down at Bran. "Looks just like my firstborn before I lost him." He turned to face Ned. "He'll be a strong lad when he grows up." He turned his gaze back to the children and looked directly at Jon. "well now, you must be the one they call Jon Snow."

Jon looked up and was absolutely surprised that Robert was talking to him. Cat did her best to hide a scowl, but she wasn't doing it very well.

"You're the first of Ned's children I ever met, did you know that?"

"No, your grace." Jon managed to speak out.

"Don't be shy lad, step forward so I can have a look at how much you've grown."

Jon looked like he didn't know what to do. He looked panicked and absolutely terrified.

"It's alright Jon," Ned said calmly, "step forward."

Jon slowly eased up in front of Robert and was gazed at for an awkward length.

"I see," Robert said. Ned could've sworn he heard a bit of anger in Robert's words. "He looks more Stark than your trueborn Ned." Robert chuckled heartedly and was the only one who found amusement in that. If anyone besides the King of Westeros said that, she might've started to beat them then and there. The only joy Ned took from that was the part of Jon that needed to be kept hidden stayed that way.

Ned held back a sigh of relief as Jon stepped back behind the other children. "Come on Ned," Robert said, "I wish to pay my respects to your dead. Selmy, Kingslayer, do something useful and give me some peace."

"By your order, your grace." Ser Barristan replied.

As Ned followed Robert, he could hear the excitement of Robb realizing who came with them.

"You're Ser Barristan Selmy? The greatest knight in the whole world!?"

In the darkness of the crypts, the only light illuminating the shadows was that of a torch in Ned's hand. The two of them stood before the statue of Lyanna Stark in silence.

Ned didn't recognize the statue that tried to be his sister, the stone couldn't capture the beauty she was. But still, it had the same presence as the other statues. She was watching them, but Ned especially. Those cold eyes were whispering the words she ever spoke. 'Promise me Ned, promise me.'

Robert laid a hawk feather he found on the journey to the castle in Lyanna's hand and gazed up her face. "Why did you have to bury her down here in the cold and the darkness? She belongs on a hill, with the sun and clouds above her." Robert felt the check of her face with his hand, half expecting it to actually be her.

"She was my family," Ned told him, "and she belongs down here with her family."

"She belonged with me." Robert said firmly.

_'And that's why she didn't love you. She wasn't some prize you could have.'_

"In my dreams, I kill him every night. But no matter how many times I do it, he just comes back to die again."

"The Targaryens are gone, Robert."

"Not all of them." Robert said furiously. "Once that fool at Castle Black withers into dust and ash, and the last of the Mad King's spawn lie die in the gutter, then they will be gone."

"They are children Robert. They played no part in the crimes of their brother and father."

Robert sighed and turned to face Ned. "We're brothers Ned, in all things but blood. King's Landing is nothing but a cesspool of highborn cunts and glamorous arses. And all of them are a bunch of lying idiots. You're the one of the only people I trust in the world. Yet you talk of sparing them, why?"

This was the first time Ned was ever in such a position. Jon Arryn was the only one to share his ideals to leave the other two children of Aerys Targaryen alone. "Aegon and Rhaenys were children, Robert. And you rewarded the men who butchered them. You are a brother to me, but that I can't forgive you for doing."

"Forgive? They were the spawn of the man who raped your sister and the woman I loved."

"And what part did they play in all that? What conspiracies did a girl of four and a babe create to threaten your reign?"

Robert didn't say anything to him, he only looked hard at Ned. "As long as the Mad King's children stay in Essos, I don't give two shits about them. They'll fall dead before I can send a knife in the dark to do the job."

Considering how Robert was, this was about the most mercy he would ever give to the Targaryens.

"What in the name of gods' is wrong with me. I'm here for a feast, not quarrels with you." He slapped Ned on the back and led him out of the crypts.

Something didn't feel right about Robert, but Ned couldn't put his finger on it. He was probably still in a state of caution from the war, but some time celebrating the victory would take the edge out of him.

There was still quite a lot of time before then, so Ned had taken to being with his family. Inside his chambers, Ned held Bran in his arms as the small baby started to grab at his doublet. Cat, however, was at a small table prematurely drinking wine before the feast and was ranting on about the King's comment about Jon.

"He looks more Stark than our true born! Seven damn him to the deepest hells!" Given how much pride Cat had in their children, Ned didn't blame her for being angry. But Robert wasn't wrong. All of Ned's children had the Tully look except for Jon and Arya. Though Robb's hair was slightly darker than when Ned left for war, so maybe there would be more of a change later on in their lives.

"Cat, he was drinking on the way here. He didn't realize what he was saying."

"But we did, and so did all of the entire castle!" She slammed her cup on the table but misplaced the landing and the cup fell to the ground and broke. "Seven hells!" Bran started to fuss from her shouting as she buried her face in her hands.

Ned walked over and sat in a chair adjacent to her while rocking Bran in his arms.

"I can't handle him anymore." Cat confessed.

Ned couldn't imagine how Jon Arryn was able to do it if Catelyn could barely last a single comment. "I'm sorry about Robert, cat. But he is the King-"

"I wasn't talking about him." She looked up from her hands and glared at him. "The bastard has to go."

Again, about Jon. Ever since he was brought to Winterfell she had done nothing but try to find any good reasons to force him away. And for every one of those reasons, Ned denied her requests. As long as he was Lord of Winterfell, then Jon would be protected within its walls.

"Jon is a Stark regardless or his name, whether you like it or not, and he belongs here." And there was no where safer to harbor a Targaryen than the place they are despised.

"Ned, I have put up with him for eight years. Send him to ward with another lord, let him join the Night's Watch, plead for Robert to let him squire for one of his Kingsguard, but I can't handle seeing a boy that is your blood than my children who have your name."

"And what wrongs has he done to deserve such an exile at a young age? Before I left, I watched him play with Robb like I did with my brothers at their age. He was kind to Sansa, and Arya was unusually attached to him. So what sins did he commit to our children that deserve that need justice?"

This was the second time he was having this kind of conversation in one day, and it was getting tiring. But Ned would never stop fighting to keep his promise to protect his blood, regardless of who else's run's through Jon's veins.

Catelyn looked upset, as usual. "Tell me this at least. Why do you love him more than your own children?" She wouldn't dare ask a question like that sober. She hadn't drunken much, but enough that she wouldn't hold back.

"For you to think that I would breaks my heart. I love all my children to the ends of the earth and would die for every one of them ten times over." Bran started to cry out and fuss in Ned's arms.

"He needs to be fed," Catelyn said as she took Bran from Ned's arms.

Ned got up from his seat and went for the door. Before he left, he turned back to Cat as she exposed her breast and let Bran suck at it. "I'll think about sending Jon to ward with someone in the North, but until I do we'll speak no more of it."

A spark of hope shown in Cat's eyes as she looked up to him, surprised that she actually might get what she wanted as far as Jon went. But Ned only half meant it. As far as he was concerned, the only one besides himself he could trust with Jon's care was Howland. But he couldn't help but imagine him breaking the secret to Jon before he needed to know it. There was always… no. Ned was promised that he would stay in Essos to protect the other two Targaryens. Besides, even if Ned wanted to find him, he didn't know how. What was he supposed to do, ask the Spider in King's Landing where a long dead knight was?

Too many risks, but the Night's Watch on the other hand. It was nothing but a den of murderers and rapists who escaped justice. But there were good men there too. No matter what people south of the Neck said, every Northerner still considers it an honor to take the black and protect the realms from Wildings.

Benjen was rising high in the ranks himself. Only twenty years old and the Master of Arms at Castle Black. Ned was certain that was Ser Jaxley Rowan either died or went missing beyond the Wall, Benjen were take his place as First Ranger.

The Starks have manned the Wall for thousands of years, and many of them rose to high positions. The Greyjoy Rebellion won't be the last war in Westeros, and who knows how long it would be until a War was brought to the North. Maybe the safest place for Jon would be the one place that took no part in the wars of man.

But Ned completely forgot to think about what Jon would want. In the end, the choice should be his. But first, Ned would take care of feeding Robert.

When he got to the courtyard, he saw Robb and Arya lingering around Ser Barristan. It sounded like Robb was trying to beg for a lesson from the old knight. Jon on the other hand was with Ser Jorah and the red priest, Thoros of Myr. The red priest hadn't had a drink for two days so no would be the best time to have a sober conversation with the man.

Ser Jorah was holding his family's Valyrian sword in his hands, kneeling down and showing the blade to Jon.

"It's a beautiful sword." Jon told the Bear Knight.

"Beautiful," Jorah replied, "strong, and unbreakable. It's my family's Valyrian steel sword, Longclaw. But you should see his." Ser Jorah gestured to Thoros, "he can light his blade in flames."

"You know magic?" Jon asked the priest.

"It's a gift the Red God bestows upon his followers. I don't know that the Seven give gifts like to their followers."

Thoros wasn't as enthusiastic to reveal his sword to marvel Jon like Ser Jorah, but still he amused him.

Ned walked up to the strange trio and they stood at attention when they saw him. "Lord Stark," Ser Jorah said as he sheathed his sword.

"Ser Jorah, Thoros. Is my son giving you trouble?"

"Not at all," Thoros replied, "but I wouldn't mind if he was giving us drinks instead." He jested. Jon got a laugh out of that surprisingly and almost went to go get them something. "I was only joking, little lord. There will be plenty of drinks tonight I hope."

"If the King leaves any for us that is." Ser Jorah said. Ned couldn't hold back his laughter at the truth of that, but he made sure to keep it low.

Ned noticed Theon standing by the stables under guard. "Jon, come with me."

"Yes Lord Stark." Jon excused himself from Ser Jorah and Thoros' company and followed Ned. "When Lady Stark isn't around, you can call me father, Jon."

"I'm sorry father."

"It's nothing to be sorry about, but remember that you are still my blood and my son." Ned and jon stood before the two men guarding Theon. "You may take your leave."

"Yes, Lord Stark." They said in unison as the walked away.

"Jon, this is Theon Greyjoy. He will be my ward to ensure peace between the Iron Islands and the rest of Westeros."

"Hello." Jon greeted but only a scowl from Theon in return.

"You're the Bastard of Winterfell, aren't you?" Theon asked with his arms crossed.

Jon felt belittled at that name he earned.

"This is Jon, Theon. One of my sons you'll grow up with. I would suggest you start with a polite first impression since you'll be here for a long while." Theon just rolled his eyes and sighed out. "Jon, why don't you get Robb and the two of you show Theon around the castle?"

"Yes father." Jon obeyed. "Come on, I'll take you to my brother."

Jon led Theon out of the stables over to Robb and Ser Barristan. Ned hoped with all his heart that things would go well with the boy. So far they were, and Cat didn't even bring up the subject of him in their chambers. But with everyone else settling in, all that was left was to celebrate the night away.


	4. Lessons and Desires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been rewritten. One, I forget something at the very end, literally one sentence. Two, I did a major facepalm when I learned that Jorah Mormont has not met Lynese Hightower yet.
> 
> Ages have been adjusted from book and canon  
> Eddard-26, Catelyn-25, Robert-27, Jon and Robb-8, Theon-9, Sansa-5, Arya- 2, Bran-1, Jorah-34, Petyr-21, Benjen-20

 

Jorah

The feasts of Bear Island did not compare to the likes this one. The Great Hall of Winterfell was overflowing with delicious food, booming music, fine ales, and bellowing cheers. The smell of roasted meats overpowered all smells and would make any man's mouth water for just a taste. Northerners were never prone to dance, but the music that sang from the lute playing created a feeling within everyone that made them want to move to the sound.

Jorah tore into a piece of venison covered in a thin layer of honey, the sweetness mixing with the juices of the meat made him forget savoring the taste and only desire devouring more. His lips were stained with the color of the meat and he didn't care one bit. He may be a lord and a newly appointed knight, but he was exhausted from war and riding and wanted nothing more than to have a night to forget it all. All he needed after the feast was a woman, but he was prone to remain celibate until he remarried.

Thoros of Myr had gotten so drunk that he was standing on the table, horn of ale in hand and spilling much of his drink, recalling a tourney he fought in years before.

"All the gods must've loved that fat knight for putting a river right near us!" Thoros bawled out. "That squire of his was a fool to put an extra coat of oil on his armor. I thought I converted the poor man when his legs burst into flame! I'd nearly finished praising the Lord of Light before he jumped into the water and near drown himself trying to douse the flames!"

The entire table erupted with laughter, one man laughed so hard he belched out for the entire mass to hear. The King took notice of such an outburst and laughed louder than anyone. It felt like a competition to see who could be the loudest.

Despite all the cheer going around, there were still those that were glum in the celebration. The Kingslayer for one, though he always looked unhappy even when he smiled. But his smiles were only those that mocked everyone around him. The others that shared his mood did not surprise at all. Theon Greyjoy and Lord Stark's bastard boy. The two of them were seated together at the end of the table opposite of Jorah. Young Jon Snow was eating his food quiet as a mouse while the Greyjoy lad was stealing unattended horns of ale. He was still settling in, yet he did not seem at all afraid to show some defiance.

Jorah couldn't help but feel a bit of pity for the new ward of Lord Stark. He was barely a boy and already swallowed by the waves of war. Jorah remembered when he was that age. His father would watch him and his aunt Maege in the training yard spar together. Every once in a while, old Jeor would train with them which would eventually lead to all of them wrestling together like the bears that emblazoned their banners. His days as a boy were the better than he ever could have asked for.

Theon Greyjoy would soon learn that his remaining years of boyhood would be spent as a hostage of war. But as long as he remained ward to Lord Stark, things might turn out better than they would if he were sent elsewhere.

"Nice lad, that Snow boy." Thoros said as he dropped his arse on the seat next to Jorah. "Never seen someone ogle Valyrian steel like him. What was your sword's name again? Longfang? Longcock?"

"Longclaw." Jorah corrected. He didn't blame Thoros for his mistake, but he couldn't believe how drunk a priest could get.

"Longclaw. Didn't know bears had claws that long. But it's the sword that counts, right? I've seen more than most would in one lifetime. Honor, Stardrop, Demonite, even that axe the Celtigars have. Calamity, that's the name. And that gigantic great sword wielded by Ser Gregor. They've all clashed with my burning steel, and all of them were defeated."

"My father once told me it's the hand that wields the sword that wins the fight."

Thoros broke out in drunken laughter. "Wiser words never spoken. Too bad I won't remember them by morning." He pressed the rim of his horn and let the rest of the ale flow down his throat, not giving a care for the trickles that spilled onto his red robe. Though if he continued as he was, his robe might turn brown before the night's end.

Jorah didn't know much about the followers of the Lord of Light, but surely this red priest of theirs was doing something blasphemous to their teachings. "I have to know, how does man like you-"

"Drunk," Thoros told him, "how does a drunk like me, what?"

"You don't seem very devoted to your god."

"Neither do you, or any of you northerners. In all the time I've been with you lot I haven't so much as seen any of you pray to a single tree."

"Weirwoods, we pray where we feel the need and keep the heart trees sacred."

Thoros looked at him curiously. "Fair enough." He set his horn down on the table and brushed the drops of ale out of his ginger colored beard. "I was never a devote follower to begin with. Eighth son of my father, what good was I to him. Sent me to become a priest, but I didn't give a single damn what he wanted. I drank and whored since as long as I can remember. I was sent here to convert Aerys Targaryen to the Red Faith, look how well that turned out. Then I saw his grandchildren, before and after they were killed. That's when I realized the truth."

"Truth?"

"No matter how much devotion, no matter how much faith, the gods we worship are nothing more than glorified ideas. In the end, there's only man and his thoughts."

"But your blade, you ignite it with the fire of your god."

"What men see is just a cheap trick. I just rub some colored wildfire on the blade and poof! They all cower before the flaming sword. In the end, it's all just cheap tricks and deception that win the battles."

There was truth to that. Jorah always wielded his sword with honor, but not all battles were fought with steel.

"Aye, wiser words never spoken." Jorah took a long swig of his ale, hoping that it would be enough to distract him from his problems.

Thoros joined him for one last drink as he stood up from the table. "If you'll excuse me, it's time I end the night with nice warm woman, and there's a brothel not too far from here."

Thoros found a serving girl with a wooden tray of filled horns and took one on his way out of the Great Hall. That same girl nearly dropped the tray as the King pulled her into his arm and buried his face in the cleavage of her breasts. She didn't seem to mind, in fact she teased him for more. Sadly for her, Robert belched right in her path and she got full blast of the stink. Robert Baratheon looked dazed and dizzy and would have nearly fallen to the ground had a man not caught him and sat him down.

"The King can't hold his ale!" Another man called out. The entire hall erupted in laughter, save Lady Stark and a few of the children. Even Ser Jaime looked amused, but probably at the sorry display that was the king.

As the King got to his feet, Jorah noticed him slipping a hand inside his yellow and black doublet and pull out a small vial of something. He quickly uncorked it and drank its contents with haste. Whatever it was, it must've had quite the kick to it because the King near immediately became wide eyed and merry once again.

Whatever kind of concoction that was, Jorah couldn't help but fantasize having a vial for himself. If so little a drink could give a man so much energy, then a night with a beautiful woman would never end.

He took one last bite of the venison on his plate before standing up to leave. The smell of food was starting to be replaced by the smell of men, and he wanted some fresh air.

Hand resting on the bear head pommel of Longclaw, Jorah walked outside to Winterfell's courtyard, to a night that was a clear moonless sky filled only with the light of the stars. The air was cold but pure. The way it always was in the North. Jorah stood still and took a deep breathe, letting himself be filled with the essence of his home. Everything was silent at first, but the sound of whacking disturbed the peace. The noise was coming from the training yard.

Jorah wandered into the training yard and saw the Bastard of Winterfell swinging a wooden sword at a target dummy. He was only eight, but he had good form and stance.

"Didn't enjoy the food?" Jorah asked, announcing his presence.

The bastard turned around, nearly startled, and saw Jorah watching him. "Lord Mormont."

"Jorah is just fine, young Snow. Or Ser Jorah. I'm an anointed knight now."

"Yes, Ser Jorah." He held the sword in both hands nervously and stood at respect for Jorah. "The food was tasty, but I snuck some ale and now I don't feel so good. Someone spilled something bitter in it."

Jorah chuckled lightly. "That's usually how the first taste starts. But usually its more flavorful." Jorah's eyes drifted to the dummy and he noticed the head took quite a beating. "You seem to take your practice seriously."

"Yes Ser, I want to be a great swordsman, like Aemon the Dragon knight or Ser Arthur Dayne."

"Ah, both are legendary fighters. One of them defeated by your father. So wouldn't he a great swordsman you would want to be like?"

Snow shook his head. "My father's a great lord not a swordsman, and I can never be what he is. I want to grow to up and be knight, known throughout all the seven kingdoms." The boy's eyes were flashing with determination.

"You already are known throughout the seven kingdoms. You're the Bastard of Winterfell." All hope died in Snow's eyes as the fell to the ground. Jorah didn't want to leave things this way. "So work hard, and soon you might become something greater than what you and the world sees you as. You can be Ser Jon, Knight of the Snowborn."

Jon looked back up at Ser Jorah with a glimmer of hope restored. "Knight of the Snowborn." He repeated. "I'll be the greatest knight of them all."

"A great knight should wield a great weapon." Jorah unsheathed Longclaw and held it by the blade gently in his hands, the handle towards Jon. The bastard's practice sword dropped to the ground as did his mouth. "Be careful, it may be lighter than most steel, but it still has a weight."

Jon slowly gripped Longclaw in both hands and lifted it up. It was heavy for the boy, but he had the strength to hold it up.

"At that size, it's like you're wielding your lord father's great sword."

From behind Jorah, a man's voice rang up. "A bastard sword for a bastard, rather fitting." Jorah and Jon both looked to see Ser Jaime Lannister sneaking up behind them with that smug grin of his.

"Kingslayer," Jorah said, "couldn't handle a Northern feast?"

"While it's nice to out of the smell of shit of King's Landing, I prefer it to a hall of drunken barbarians."

The damn Lannisters. All of them appeared as pretty as their gold, and all of them thought they were much greater in value. All because of the deeds of Tywin Lannister, the man who brought the power to their house.

"And you thought you could find none outside?"

"One can only hope. But alas, it appears the outdoors are home to bears and bastards."

Jon looked troubled every time Ser Jaime said the word bastard. He nervously and carefully handed the Valyrian sword back to Jorah. He sheathed it back into its scabbard.

"Don't look so glum, bastard," Jaime said, walking forward and brushing his hand in Jon's black curly hair, "tomorrow you get to learn from Ser Barristan the Bold and I. The King's ordered it for you and your half brother, you get to learn how men of summer fight." He gave a curt nod to Jorah and left the two of them alone.

"I'm jealous of you, young Snow."

"Really?"

"I would give anything to learn from Ser Barristan. And I cannot deny the skill Ser Jaime has."

Jon picked his practice sword off the ground and held it like a real sword. "One day," he said, "one day I will be a knight."

"Aye, and that will be the second to greatest day of your life."

"The second, what will be the greatest?"

"Finding the woman you love." Actually, it will be sharing a bed with her.

Jon looked near disgusted that Jorah would say such a thing. "Girls? The only ones I know live in Winterfell and they're all stupid. The just talk about princes and dresses."

Jorah laughed heartedly. "There's more than just this castle, and this country. An entire world is waiting for you to become a man and venture out into it."

"Have you seen the world, Ser?"

"I've seen my share. Furthest I've ever been from home is King's Landing. Though I doubt I'll travel further than that anytime soon. Maybe when I am nothing but gray hair and old bones I'll venture out to see more. But like you said, one day."

* * *

Eddard

"Arya!" Sansa called out after spitting out her drink. She and Robb both suffered from the mischief of their younger sister. While they were watching Robert make a fool of himself, Eddard noticed Arya slip by their sights and sprinkle salt into their cups. He wanted to say something, but the ale in his belly made him want to watch what would happen more. Arya was nearly three years old, yet she had a natural talent of stealth.

He placed a hand over his mouth to hide his grin and laughter from everyone. That is, everyone but Catelyn. She glared at him like she would to their children when they misbehaved.

"Forgive me, dear wife. Too much drinking has clouded my sense of maturity it would seem."

"Clearly." Catelyn told him. "Robb, take Arya to bed."

"But mother," Robb whined, "I haven't had any wine yet."

"Of course not, you're only eight. Now take your sister to bed before I have to do it to the both of you."

Robb clearly didn't want to go to bed yet seeing as how fast he got out of his seat and swooped Arya into his arms. She fussed in protest but his size was to great for her to overpower.

"I swear," Catelyn sighed, "I feel taming Arya to be a proper lady will be the greatest challenge of my life."

"Believe me," Ned told her, "my sister was just as wild as her. If my father could do it then so can we. We'll figure out some way or another."

While most took to eating the boar and the deer, Ned was drinking the rabbit stew by the bowl. He feasted on fish for far too long at Pyke and was lusting for Gage's cooking. The man knew how to make even the bitterest of things have a wonderful taste. His belly would definitely be bulging out by the time he went to bed, but not nearly as much as Roberts.

The hour had gone by quickly and the sound of the bard's song and the music of his lute had captured the spirits of a few drunken men. They started to sing and dance with the song. It would have been a merry time had they not all tripped over one another.

It took Ned a moment to realize that at the bottom of the pile of men was Robert, passed out and snoring as loud as he laughed.

With the King out for the count, the feast would be coming to a close very soon. Ser Jaime had returned to the King's aid and lifted Robert off the ground with the assistance of the bard. Ser Barristan took Robert by the legs and the three of them began to journey to Robert's chambers.

"I think it's time we all retire for the night." Ned said to Catelyn who agreed with him. "Will you see to Sansa? I have some business to do before I sleep myself."

"As you ask, my lord husband." Catelyn left the High table to tend to their children and Ned waited for her to leave. When she did, he got up from his seat and went into the remaining masses. There were less than two dozen men left in the Great Hall, and once Ned would leave, so would they.

Ned walked over to Theon Greyjoy. The boy looked so full he might burst if he ate anymore.

"Had enough, lad?"

The boy nearly burped when he spoke. "Too much food, I think."

This was the first time Ned saw Theon with any bit of joy to be in the North. He then noticed the many mugs that were scattered around him. "And too much to drink?"

Theon shrugged at him. "My father's not here to tell me no, so why not?"

"Because you're still just a boy and you're living in my care now. You'll be raised alongside my children, and you'll have to follow the same rules as them. Do you understand?"

Theon was going to answer, but his eyes widened instantly before he turned away and vomited heavily on the floor.

"Well, at least your first day will be one you'll remember." Ned patted Theon on the back as the boy let out more of what he just ate. "Come on, let's go find Maester Luwin."

Ned walked Theon to Maester Luwin's chambers to have him sorted out.

Luwin was asleep when they arrived, but in seconds was up and about mixing a medicinal brew for Theon. "It wasn't the food you ate, it was the drink. A boy your age shouldn't go near ales or wine. But luckily for you, Lord Stark's late brother Brandon was prone to such frivolities as you and I dealt with him many times."

Brandon always was wild and rebellious as long as Ned could remember him. In fact, he was much like how Robert is. Drinking and fighting. Though he had more sense keep away from whoring. But that didn't stop him from pursuing Ashara at Harrenhal.

Ned remembered those damned days they spent at that cursed castle. Wonderful memories were made, but that was how they began as. They all ended in hate and regret. Ned fell in love for the first time in his life, only to have that love bewitched from him by his own brother. The same thing happened to Lyanna, and she was foolish to fall for Rhaegar. If only she didn't ride for Howland, if only Rhaegar stayed true to his wife, if only the tourney never happened.

Ned shook his heads of these thoughts. There was nothing that could change what happened, and he wouldn't change any of it if it meant giving up his family for another. He loved them all with all his heart. But for Jon, he tried his best to. Every time he looked at him he only saw Lyanna and Rhaegar. Both someone he loved and someone he hated.

Rhaegar was a fool. A silver haired fool who betrayed everything he represented for love. But then again, Ned did the very same thing to keep Jon safe. He lied to Robert, Cat, Benjen, and the rest of the world. Only Three others alive knew the truth, and all of them had sworn to secrecy.

Maester Luwin poured a thick green liquid into a cup and gave it to Theon. "Drink up. It may taste like an old boot, but you'll feel right as rain in the morning."

Theon looked at him curiously and said. "Have many experiences eating old boots?" Ned snorted as Luwin had a look of defeat on his face. "You're the one who knows the taste apparently." He took the cup and downed the contents as fast as he could. He looked like he would vomit again before he swallowed it down. He coughed and hacked after that. "That tastes more like rotten seal meat."

Maester Luwin looked to Ned. "He'll be a handful this one."

"Without a doubt." Ned replied.

With Theon cared for, Ned escorted him to his chambers personally. At the door, Ned knelt down to Theon. "This is your room. My bastard's is just down the hall. If you need anything during the night go to him and he can help you. He's not one to sleep much unfortunately."

"Am I going to say my vows now?" Theon was starting to show some traces of drunkenness. Maester Luwin's medicine hadn't taken effect yet.

"Your vows?"

"I heard one of the guards joking that I might as well go to the Wall and take the black because I'll be here for this night and all the nights to come."

Ned felt ashamed of the courtesies within his castle walls. "Theon, I promised you that you won't be here forever. I intend to keep that promise." Theon didn't look convinced but nodded all the same. He entered his room and silently closed the door behind him.

Ned sighed as he walked through the halls of the castle. They were always warm He knew it was because of the pipes within the walls that carried the heat of the hot springs, but sometimes he liked to believe it was something more than that. His father once told him that the reason there were hot springs was because a dragon lived in the part of the crypts that were sealed off. Its breathe was so hot it heated the ground above it and the pools of water too. Ned missed his father dearly. He wished his father could see his grandchildren. Ned wished they could see him. But all that was left was a tomb and a memory.

Ned heard the sound of footsteps against the stone floor approaching him and he saw Ser Barristan approaching him. The old knight was dressed out of his white armor and cloak and in some fine brown leathers. But he kept his sword strapped at his side.

"Lord Stark."

"Ser Barristan."

"The King requests an audience before you retired for the night."

"He's awake already?"

"Quite so. It was a surprise to me as well." Robert usually had a full day's worth of rest before recovering from a feast like that. But maybe tonight he was just lucky. "Would you like my escort?"

"I feel safe enough in my castle, but I would enjoy the company."

The two of them walked together to Robert's solar he was given.

"You treat the Greyjoy boy well as far as I have seen." Barristan told Ned. "Better than anyone at court would."

"If he was sent to King's Landing he would be torn to pieces and only grow to hate the world his father tried to reave and plunder. Just another pirate from the Iron Islands. I hope I can change him enough that maybe he can put an end to all this."

Ser Barristan seemed glad to hear Ned say that. "Life is strange. It wasn't too long ago that you and I fought as enemies at the Trident."

"I'm glad we never met on the field Ser Barristan, as is my wife. I doubt that the widow's life would suite her."

Ser Barristan chuckled. "You're too modest. I've seen you cut down a dozen great knights and everyone knows of your victory against Ser Arthur. He never could best me, but he was the only man to ever bring me to a draw. It was an honorable thing you did to return Dawn to Starfall. Most men would have taken such a legendary blade for themselves or sold it for coin."

"I prefer to not be like most men."

"As do I. But there days when I question if I am a man with honor or just too stubborn to break my oaths as a Kingsguard."

"You're too hard on yourself. There is no knight more honorable than you."

"Honorable, maybe. But sometimes being that isn't enough. I stood vigil to Aerys Targaryen as he laughed at those he burned with Wildfire. Jaehaerys was a good man and a good king, but his health claimed him before he could do more of what he could. As for Robert…"

"You needn't say anything. He's a good man and a great warrior." But it takes more than that and a crown to be a king.

Knowing that they shouldn't speak ill of their King, Barristan merely nodded as they had arrived at the door, Ser Jaime standing guard.

"He's alone inside," Ser Jaime informed them, "so no need to worry of knocking." He didn't need to clarify to make sense that he meant whores.

Ned opened the door and saw Robert sitting on his bed with his hands rubbing his forehead.

"Ned, gods be damned, you Northerners know how to feast." Robert wanted to laugh, but he had too much of a headache. "Gods be damned." He sat up and approached a table with a tankard of wine.

"You sure wine is the right drink right now? I could have Maester Luwin bring you milk of the poppy."

"Fuck the milk of the- Ah!" He bent over in pain, leaning on the table and knocking his tankard over and spilling the wine one the floor. "On second thought, that might not be a bad idea. Did you here that Kingslayer!?"

"Yes, your grace." Ser Jaime replied through the door. "I'll be back shortly."

Robert sat down at the table and rested his elbows on a small pile of letters. "Do you know what these are?" He picked up some of the letters and let them slip through his fingers and fall to the floor. "I've just won a war yet I can't have a few weeks to catch my breath."

"My father once said that a crown should never rest comfortably on a king's head."

"So does Jon. Every time he begs me to attend the small council. One of these blasted things is from a lord who lost a son to the Greyjoys. Said the rebellion never would have happened if I did my job right as king."

"People grow angry when they suffer loss. Find something to give reason to why it happened."

"Aye, that they do." Robert pulled one of the letters out of the pile. "See this? It's from my daughter, can you believe that? So young and already knows how to read and write. She's pretty thing, and nothing like her mother. For that I'm happy. How old is your eldest, Ned? His name is Robb, am I correct?"

"Aye, he's eight."

"My girl just turned five. Same age as your little Sansa I think." Robert put the letter back on the table. "I want you to think about my proposal. A unity between our houses. Your son and my daughter. Not immediately of course and I make no demand of it. But when the boys ages enough, speak to him about it."

Ned wasn't sure how to feel. Robert was being sensible, and that was usually a quality he lacked very much. And what he was offering Ned was a great gift. "You honor me with such a proposal Robert. I cannot speak for my son of course, but I know that he will consider this greatly when he comes of age to understand."

"Yes, of course. It's just a thought for now." Robert gazed to the window of his room. "I don't want to go back Ned. Back to King's Landing or the smell of shit that never leaves. Nothing but perfumed arses of highborn twats and Lannisters. Everywhere I look in that city I see those golden haired idoits. The only one who keeps away from me is Cersei. Tries to hide my son Joffrey under her skirts instead of let him grow into a man."

"You're the king, Robert. You can do as you wish. But Aerys chose the same path, and we all know what happened to him."

As if on cue, Ser Jaime entered the King's solar with a vial of milk of the poppy in hand.

"Took you long enough Kingslayer." Robert scolded. "Forgive me Ned, I've kept you away from your wife for too long. Be gone with you."

"Thank you, your grace." Ned bowed his head and left. Robert wasn't wrong, he was eager to spend a night with Catelyn after too many away from her.

* * *

Catelyn

A warm night of feasting was ended with a warm night with Ned. He seemed extremely eager when he first entered her chambers that night. Even more so when he was certain that no one would disturb them. Nothing felt better than having him all to herself after months of them being apart. She wished moments like those would last forever.

Morning came faster than she wanted it to. The early spring days were short and the nights long, yet this one felt the opposite. Catelyn sat up in her bed and pull the fur covers to her bare skin to keep the cold away. Ned was looking out the window, naked and unfazed by the cold wind breezing by him. It always amazed her how resilient to the cold the men of the north were.

She didn't partake in the feast very much. She was still overcoming the wine she had this afternoon from her fit. But some good came out of her drunken chat with Ned. He told her of tomorrows planned training with the boys and the Kingsguard. As much as she didn't want to admit it, the bastard was more skilled than Robb when it came to the sword. If he could show some impressive display to either of the knights, maybe they would consider talking him as a squire and away from her home.

Then all she would have left to put up with was Theon Greyjoy. She wished no harm on the boy, but that didn't mean she wanted him here. So far, he kept to himself as much as the bastard did, but it would only be a matter him acting like an Ironborn unless Ned changed him into something better. To be honest, anything was better than an Ironborn.

She fell back across her bed stared at the ceiling. For a brief moment everything felt wrong. This room, this castle, all of it. It was the same feeling she would get whenever she visited Ned in the godswood. She didn't belong in the North. Her home was in Riverrun, a place that didn't snow in the summer and had more than just an empty wasteland surrounding it. Away from the cold, away from the Northmen, and away from the bastard.

"Morning, Cat." Ned said as he returned to the bed. "Did you sleep well?"

"Hardly slept at all." She smirked over at him. "Do we have to wake up?"

"If we don't our children will come bursting through that door. And if they see us like this… I don't think I'm ready to explain how things work yet."

"You don't have to. Robb learned about that while you were at war." Catelyn finally pulled the blankets off of her and got out of the bed. She wrapped a robe around herself and gestured to her nightstand. "There's a set of raven scrolls for you. I handled most of them and those were the ones congratulating you for the victory. One of them is from Castle Black. I guessing it's Benjen's response to my invitation I sent to him, though I suppose it doesn't matter anymore."

She found the one with the seal of black wax and gave it to Ned. He broke it open and read its contents looking pleased with what it had to say.

"Benjen was on a range when the raven from Winterfell arrived, but he's on his way and should arrive within a few days."

 _'If the knights don't grab the bastard's attention maybe Benjen and the Nightswatch will.'_  Catelyn thought. "It will be nice to have him around for a while. Robb always loves it when he visits."

The two of them bathed and dressed before joining the King and the children in the Great Hall to break their fast.

To Catelyn's pleasure, all of the children except for the bastard and Theon Greyjoy were present.

"Ned! Cat!" Robert called out. "Glad you could join us."

Ned led Catelyn to her seat before sitting himself down. They were served bacon with some bread and honey. Catelyn ate hers lightly compared to the King who was eating by the mouthful.

The King looked over at Ned after swallowing. "So Ned, have you spoken to your wife of my proposition?"

Proposition? What on earth could he be talking about?

"I have not, your grace. I was planning to tell in about an hour or so, once we've woken up fully."

"Your grace," Catelyn said, "what proposition would you be talking about."

Ned took her by the arm. "One that our children don't need to hear, not yet at least."

"Yes, give them a few years before they hear of it." The King said. "Speaking of your children, Ned, where's that bastard of yours and the Greyjoy? I would think that your own blood and your new ward would eat with you."

"My knowledge of their whereabouts is the same as yours, your grace." Ned replied.

Robb gulped down a bite of bread and honey before speaking up. "Jon already ate with Theon. I think they're both in the yard because Jon wanted to see who is better with a bow."

"Bow!" Arya chirped out.

The other children giggled at Arya's little outburst as did the King. Catelyn even caught Ned with a hint of a smile before he hid it away. She cleared her throat and her children ceased their laughter.

Robb wiped his mouth and set his plate aside. "Father, may I be excused?"

"You've hardly eaten." Ned told him. "Where is it you're off to?"

"I want to go watch Jon and Theon."

Ned Sighed. "Very well. Off with you."

As Robb left the table, he failed to notice he had a follower trailing behind him.

Catelyn called out to her daughter. "Arya, get back here."

Arya's only reply was  _bow_.

Catelyn sighed out as she got from the table and chased her down. Robb was kind enough to stop at the door and block Arya's way of escape. Arya began fuss at Robb before Catelyn picked her up. "Arya, you are to stay away from the training yard."

Arya squirmed and fought against her mother. "No! No! No! Want out! Watch bow! Watch Jon!"

Catelyn nearly froze when Arya said the bastard's name. She was of few words, but this was the first time she ever said Snow's name. This moment gave Arya the chance to fall out of her arms and run away.

"Mother," Sansa said, "are you alright."

Catelyn said. "I'm going to go pray at the sept." She ignored every person who greeted her on her way to one of the few places that made her calm.

The sept was small, only big enough for ten people. But the only ones that ever used it were her, Sansa, Septa Mordane, and the other young girls that lived in the castle. Though the girls only came because Sansa did. In each of the seven walls of the sept was one of the seven, surrounding those that would come to worship them.

Catelyn knelt down and let the presence if the gods surround her. She always prayed to each of the gods as was custom, but her thoughts and emotions were too much to keep within herself. She couldn't take any more of Jon Snow. His presence in the castle, his affect on her children, and those eyes of a stranger that she would see.

"Take him away. From this castle, from this country." No, that wasn't enough. As long as he walked this earth he would always be a threat to her children. "Make him die. Let me be free of that child of sin." Her words were barely above a whisper, but the rang in her mind like a giant bell, clanging over and over. She felt no guilt of what she asked, only anger.

"Cat," Ned's voice entered the sept, calm and course as it always ways, "is everything alright?"

She got up from her knees and put on a mummer's face that was calm. "Yes," she lied, "I've just had many things on my mind. When a won is won, you expect things to calm down."

"They're supposed to, but King's don't usually follow me home after them."

She faked a laugh as she followed him out of the sept.

"Don't worry." Ned Told her. "Robert will only be here for six more days before he journeys back to King's Landing." She didn't give a damn about the King. "Come, I want to speak to you about this proposition Robert suggested."

Ned told her of a probable marriage union with the royal family. Usually the King was asked for such an honor, never the other way around. This is exactly what Catelyn needed to bring the greatest glory to her children. And if circumstances were convenient, then her grandchildren would be possible heirs to the Iron Throne.

As the sun melted the morning frost, the rest of the castle began to wake up. Miken's forge sounded loud with the strikes of his hammers against his anvil. The kennels were filled with the barks of the dogs and yelps of a litter of newborn pups.

Catelyn stood with Ned and Robert on the balconies above the training yard as Ser Rodrick prepared Robb and Snow to train with the two Kingsguard. Though they weren't the only ones watching. Ser Jorah stood by with the Red Priest below and a group of the guards from the night patrols decided to watch rather than rest. These were lessons from two of the greatest knights in all of Westeros after all.

Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime were dressed out of their white armor and cloaks and into the best that Winterfell had to offer. Though looking at Ser Jaime, the training armor he wore looked the poorest of quality on a man of his stature. Ser Barristan didn't mind at all.

Robert patted Ned on the back. "Quite the audience, wouldn't you say Ned?"

"More than they get on a normal day." Ned told him.

"I keep telling you to host a tourney here Ned. Just look at how everyone gathers around two knights of King's Landing like pigeons to crumbs of bread."

"Tourneys are just places men can flaunt their pride for some gold and glory. Not to mention the costs."

"Damn to the costs. What you get in return is recognition. The North is seen as a home to frozen wasteland and barbarians." Not to mention that something like that would liven the castle up. Give men a chance to seek glory and they'll take it as long as there is gold.

"We could care less what people see us as." That wasn't completely true. Northmen cared how others saw them, but only among themselves. They cared not for anyone south of the Neck unless you were the King or had a good reason to give them.

"Ha! You sound just like the Kingslayer. If you won't host one then I will. But not in King's Landing. Hate that damned city. Maybe somewhere that doesn't smell of shit like Sunspear or Lannisport. Ah, looks like they're about to begin."

Everyone gazed down to watch the training begin.

Ser Barristan stood in front of the boys while Ser Jaime stood off to the side. "Now then, who is who?" Ser Barristan asked.

Robb said. "I'm Robb Stark, Ser. He's my half-brother Jon Snow."

Snow gave a curt bow.

"Good lads." Ser Barristan said. "Now then, as far as I know, knights are uncommon in the North, are they not?"

"No Ser Barristan," Robb told him. "That's because knights are anointed by the seven and we keep to the old gods."

"I see. Still there are a few among you. Your master at arms and Lord Mormont, surely that doesn't stray either of you from the desire to be one."

"No Ser Barristan," the bastard said, "I want to be a knight more than anything."

Ser Barristan smiled at him. "You're a good lad. Noe why don't we see what the two of you can do first." Ser Barristan took a few steps back to Ser Jaime as Robb and Snow both faced each other for a match.

They both took their stances and raised their practice swords and shields. Robb was the one to make the first move and struck at Snow with his sword. Snow was quick to block with his shield and parried the blow to the side. Robb raised his shield to block whatever Snow would strike at. But instead, Snow used his shield to bash into Robb. Snow then raised his sword to strike at an opening but Robb blocked it in time.

Catelyn watched with pride swelling inside her as everything Snow attacked with proved faulty against Robb.

But that disappeared when Robb stepped to far and was hit square in the chest with Snow's sword.

"Wonderful hit," Ser Barristan commented. "That's enough for now. You both are very adept in the ways of swordplay. Almost as much as I was."

"Thank you, Ser." Robb said. "Jon's always been better with a sword than me. But I'm a better rider."

"If riding is your strength, you should pursue learning mounted combat when your skill is good enough."

"I will, Ser."

Ser Jaime finally broke his silence. "I've seen enough to know what I'm dealing with. I'll take the true born."

Snow just stood in place, silent and sweaty. While Ser Jaime and Robb began their session together, Ser Barristan knelt down to Snow. Had the pairing been reversed, things would appear to be a poetic situation. A gallant knight for Robb and an Oathbreaker for the bastard.

Ser Barristan looked at the bastard strangely for an awkward time before focusing on training him.

"What is it, Ser Barristan?" The bastard asked.

"It's strange, you remind me of someone, but I can remember who. Forgive me, I'm here to teach, not bore you. I noticed you put a great deal of strength into your strikes."

"The stronger fighter always wins."

This was amusing to Ser Barristan. "A stronger fighter doesn't always mean he has more muscle. You landed the first strike because you have quicker speed. The mightiest of blows means nothing if it can't hit its target in time. Have you ever heard of Ser Gregor Clegane?"

"He's the one they call the Hound."

"The Hound is Ser Gregor's younger brother. He's known as the Mountain that Rides, but most just call him the Mountain. He's taller than that stableboy of yours and the strongest man I've met. I've seen him cut a man in two with a single swing of his great sword. But even with all that brute strength, he is slower than most. I've seen him beaten at tourneys by men who were light on their feet and faster with their weapons."

Catelyn overheard the red priest boasting to the men around that he beat the Mountain three times.

"So it's speed that wins, not strength?" The bastard asked.

"A fast parry won't protect you if you don't have the strength to defend."

"So, it's both?"

"For the most part. There's also a great many other things. Skill, experience, endurance, many things. But for, we'll just stick with the basics. Now show me your stance." While the two for them were fine tuning Jon's basic form, the men watching were listening in as much as they could to the greatest swordsman in Westeros.

"Ha! Speed." Robert mocked. "Rhaegar was fast with that sword of his, but it didn't stop my hammer from crushing his chest in."

Things went on for a few minutes before some of the men watching left. They expected to see some secret or advanced technique displayed but all the saw was what they knew. Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime focused completely on fine tuning what Robb and Snow already knew.

"I don't understand," Catelyn admitted, "Why teach what they already know?"

Ned was kind enough to explain. "Sometimes the things that determine who lives and who dies in battle are the simplest of things. A single strike is all it takes and whoever perfected their technique better will be the winner unless fate chooses otherwise."

"But I still don't understand."

"How many times when you learned stitching did you have to practice the same thing over and over?"

"More than I wish. But it was worth it."

"It's the same idea, just a differentskill."

They were interrupted when a loud thud sounded in the yard. Snow had tripped and fallen face first into the ground.

"That was pathetic." Ser Jaime said as Snow slowly got to his feet. "You've only just started and you look like you've been at this for hours." Snow was practically soaked in sweat and was out of breath.

"I'm sorry Ser Jaime. I just feel so exhausted." Snow whined.

"Do you think an enemy will care if you feel well in the middle of a battle?" Ser Jaime asked. "Any man who has to retreat a fight because he's tired is a craven. Any man who fights himself to death is a fool who doesn't know when to stop. But any man can't keep going when crossing swords is a dead man."

Snow tried to shake his fatigue away, but when he faced Ser Barristan to practice another set of parries, he dropped his sword on the first strike and began coughing heavily.

"Honestly, you're worse to train than my nephew." Ser Jaime mocked. Without warning, Snow collapsed to the ground ask was desperately gasping for breath in between his coughs.

"Jon!" Ser Rodrick stepped in and knelt down to the bastard. "Jon, are you alright? Jon say something?"

Catelyn turned to Ned, but he had already rushed down the steps to see to the bastard.

"Out of my way!" Ned shouted as he shoved some of the men observing aside and rushed to the bastard. "Jon? Are you alright? Where's Maester Luwin?"

"I'm here, Lord Stark." Maester Luwin appeared into the training yard and took Ser Rodrick's place beside Snow. "What happened?"

Ned didn't try to hide the tone of worry in his voice. "He just collapsed in the middle of a spar."

"Ser Barristan," Maester Luwin looked to the Kingslayer, "did you notice anything?"

The old knight looked just as concerned as Ned was. "He was unusually out of breath and sweating more than I've seen anyone."

Maester Luwin turned his attention back to Snow. He seemed to notice something as he pulled the boy's collar down to inspect his neck. "It looks like Jon has the pox."

"The pox?" Ned asked. "Will he be alright?"

"He may live, but as young as he is he could very well die."

When Catelyn heard the word die be said, everything around her seemed to collapse. She watched as Ned took Snow into his arms and led Maester Luwin back into the castle. The entire time she felt speechless as if someone asked her an obvious question she couldn't answer.  _'The gods are real,'_  she thought.  _'They are real and they gave me what I asked for.'_ And yet with her prayer granted, why was it that she began to feel a pain in her heart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some links to my sketches of the swords and axe mentioned and more  
> Calamity- https://multirandomness21.deviantart.com/art/Valyrian-Sword-Part-8-748562115
> 
> Honor and Stardrop- https://multirandomness21.deviantart.com/art/Valyrian-Sword-Part-5-748561106
> 
> Demonite- https://multirandomness21.deviantart.com/art/Valyrian-Sword-Part-11-748563194


	5. Memories and Tragedies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would it take for Catelyn to keep her promise to the gods?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I'm posting until Night Dragons is done. You will all hate me for it after you read this. And just so you know, I lie in the comments to protect parts of the story like this

Eddard

 

For three whole days Jon was confined to a bed and suffered harshly from his illness. His current room was too small for Maester Luwin to tend to him and allow Eddard to watch over him at the same time. But surprisingly, Robert suggested to have Jon moved to a larger room. The only reason Eddard hadn’t thought of that was out of habit of hearing Catelyn object to him and rant about valuing Jon over his other children. But for once, she didn’t confront him about it so Jon was moved to one of the larger bedchambers without a fuss. The one in choice was one of the finer guest rooms that currently wasn’t in use, located right next to the King’s. He expected some objection from Catelyn since the room was the size of theirs and Robert’s, but she kept silent about it. In fact, she had been keeping to herself since Jon fell ill. For whatever reason or purpose was, Eddard knew not of it.

Eddard sat by Jon’s bedside as often as he could, listening to his ragged breaths and watching him in a state of painful exhaustion. Every time Jon moaned out in pain Eddard held his breath, afraid to watch if his son was about to spend his last moments in the world in bed and in such a state, all the while Lyanna’s last words would ring like a loud bell in his mind. ‘ _ Promise me Ned, promise me _ .’          

Ser Jorah was kind to visit Jon and say his farewells to him before he took his leave to return to Bear Island. Many of the other guests that were invited for the feast left as well, only a few remained. Most of them were part of the King’s company. The only guest still in Winterfell who wasn’t with Robert was Thoros of Myr. He was planning to ride with the King to King’s Landing when they would depart.

Robb was good enough to come see Jon every now and then, but Maester Luwin made sure that he and they other children knew to keep their distance from Jon so they wouldn’t catch the pox. Sansa didn’t care to see Jon at all, but Arya felt different. One morning she wandered into his room and gave Jon a freshly bloomed Wolfsbane flower from the glass gardens. Maester Luwin nearly panicked to death given how close she got to Jon, but she was lucky enough that the pox didn’t spread to her. Ever since that scare, Arya could only visit Jon if she accompanied her father.

Eddard was unfortunate enough to have to tend to his duties this afternoon. A deserter from Eastwatch was caught at the Last Hearth and some of the Greatjon’s men brought him to Winterfell for justice. While everyone in Winterfell wore cloaks, the men of the Last Hearth wore thick long elk hide coats lined in fur. The soldiers’ tunics were emblazoned with the sigil of House Umber, a roaring giant wearing broken shackles.

Eddard stood in the courtyard with Robert, Jory and Ser Rodrick as the deserter was brought forth to him.

The deserter was rather aged into his years, probably just under fifty. He had a terrible gash that began above his left brow and stretched to his chin. A part of his lip was torn off and permanently exposed his teeth, at least the ones he had left. He struggled as he was brought to his knees before the king. “Get yer stinkin hands off me you damn filthy savages!”

One of the Umber men punched the deserter hard across the face and shut him up.

Robert chuckled as the deserter groveled in pain. “Ha! Dumb fool. Suppose I have to deal with this. But this is your home Ned and your country. Let the man face your justice.”

Eddard looked over to Jory and nodded to him. Shortly after, Jory brought Ice. Eddard pulled the sword out of the dire wolfskin scabbard and rested the tip of the blade in the ground. “Do you have anything you wish to say before you are sentenced?”

The deserter spat at Eddard’s boots. “Piss on you and your king.”

There was a crunching of the snow as Robert stormed towards the deserter, his steps faltering a bit making Ned frown as Robert with his large hand grabbed the deserter’s head and punched him in the jaw. The man spat out a wad of blood from the force of his hit and appeared dazed afterwards. “His king? I am  _ the  _ King! You fucking craven, keep your bloody mouth shut!” He looked to Eddard, the fury of the Baratheon’s was burning in his eyes, before he gave Ned an easygoing smile, his eyes clouding for a moment as he relaxed. “Gods, that felt good. Well? What are you waiting for? Kill the traitor already and be done with it.”

Some of the guards of Winterfell brought a block forward and the deserter was slammed onto it, his neck naked of protection.

“In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, The Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die." Eddard lifted Ice up into the air with ease and with one swing the deserter’s head fell from his body, clean and quick. Blood began to spill to the dirt as Eddard handed Ice back to Jory. “Take it to the Godswood.”

“To the heart tree, my lord?” Jory asked.

“Aye.” The Umber men took the body and head away while the Winterfell men began to clean to the mess of the execution.

Robert sighed heavily. “Gods Ned...Is your executioner unable to do his duty?”

Eddard shook his head. “Winterfell has never had an executioner except the King’s of Winter and Lords after them. My father told me the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”

Robert scoffed at him. “Sounds like an excuse to kill a man. But I’ll never understand you Starks or your ways. How’s your bastard fairing?”

“My maester told me he has more days of being bedridden ahead of him before he’ll start to recover, but those days will be the worst of the pox.” Jon was barely holding onto his life already. Eddard feared what would come next if this wasn’t the worst of it.

Robert looked over to his Kingsguard. “Selmy!”

Ser Barristan approached Eddard and Robert. “Your grace?”

“You were in charge of the boy’s care when he fell ill, and you’ll continue to be until he recovers. Go stand vigil at his door, that’s a command.”

For a second Eddard felt flattered, but this was probably meant to insult Ser Barristan. “Your grace-”

“Dammit Ned, while I’m in your castle you can forget the courtesies of court.”

“Robert, I appreciate the gesture but having one of your Kingsguard act as a protector to a sickly child is unnecessary.”

“Unnecessary yes, but a command still.” Robert looked at Ser Barristan with a piercing gaze.

“By your orders, your grace.” Barristan left his post to the King to know take it guarding Jon. Ned couldn’t deny the irony of the whole situation, leaving one king to guard another, but it was embarrassing nonetheless for the old knight. Now only Ser Jaime remained as a guard to the King.

Robert wrapped an arm over Eddard’s shoulders and began to walk with him. “Finally, I wasn’t sure how else to get rid of him.”

Eddard suddenly became confused. “What?”

“I’m planning on a hunt tonight and I don’t need that old sod following after me everywhere. I want you to come with me.”

A hunt was the last thing that Eddard need right now. “Robert, I’m not sure that I should.”

“Come on, you’ve been moping since your bastard caught the pox. A hunt will help you get your wits again and realize that no son of Ned Stark is weak enough to die of something so lowly as sickness.”

Eddard appreciated Robert’s confidence in Jon’s recovery given that it was more than he himself had. But regardless of it, he wouldn’t be able to feel easy until Jon’s fate was certain. He wouldn’t allow himself to casually go about his days or frolic about while his son was lying in bed near death. “I appreciate the offer Robert, but-”

“It’s not an offer, it’s a command. One that I don’t like to give but need to. If you let the boy’s health drag you down, you’ll become a miserable sod for the rest of my stay. A hunt will get your blood flowing like a battle would and take your mind off everything else. Trust me.”

Maybe Robert was right. Eddard has been nothing but worried, perhaps something to bring his mood up would also brings his hopes up too. And the kitchens were low on meats after the feast. “I suppose a hunt would be alright.”

“It’s settled. Before the sun sets this evening, we’ll ride out of the castle with five men each.” Robert patted Ned on the back and left with Ser Jaime. Eddard noticed that Robert pulled a vial from the inside of his doublet and downed its contents as quick as he could. Probably a small stash of wine he kept with him at all times.

Eddard would probably bring Ser Rodrick and Jory, but aside from that he wasn’t sure who else. Maybe three of his own guard. But If Benjen arrived today then maybe he would want to come with them.

With no business left, Eddard went to the Godswood to clean Ice of the blood that stained the blade. He met Jory at the entrance to the Godswood, holding Ice ready for Ned to claim the sword and venture into the woods to settle his mind of the execution. A tradition that his father and his grandfather and as many of the Starks that are long dead have done.

Eddard first cleaned the blood that covered the smoke colored steel of Ice. The ripples of the all the folds began to show once the red had gone. Before he oiled it, Eddard gazed into the blade of the sword. For four hundred years the sword had been wielded by Starks of old. 

“How many times does a blade have to be stained in blood for it to turn red like sword of the Drumms?” he whispered to himself.

How many lives have the edges of Ice taken? How many heads have rolled to the ground after the sword gave justice? His thoughts began to wander to the original legendary sword that was wielded by the Starks thousands of years ago. It too was also named Ice, but it was different than the greatsword Eddard held in his hands. A King of Winter journeyed to the Wall with it in hand, but both sword and king never returned south. They vanished beyond the Wall like many before and after them. No history tome mentioned any clue of what might have happened, but it wouldn’t change that the King and the sword were gone forever.

As Eddard ran the clothe down the blade, cleaning any impurities that tried to nest on it, he heard the crunching of leaves and snow. He looked over and saw Catelyn coming to him. She always looked uncomfortable in Winterfell’s Godswood, but this time she looked more so.

Eddard ran the clothe once more done the entire blade before setting it aside and sheathing the greatsword.

“Ned,” she spoke, “I have a request I wish to ask of you.”

“It must be quite the request since you came here.” It was rare for his wife to venture into the Godswood, she followed the Faith of the Seven, keeping to the sept he had built for her as the place where she prays.

Catelyn stood by the heart tree and looked frightened, but it was more at him than at the tree as Eddard would have expected. “I wanted to take some time and visit my family in Riverrun.”

This was unusual to ask. If she wanted to go to Riverrun she need only say and depart but... “I would never forbid you from your homeland Cat, but at a time like this? I expect there is more than you are letting on? Do you wish to bring the children with you?” He did not know if he could bare the thought of the children leaving while Jon was in such a terrible state. What if they returned only to find him in a stony grave?

“No. They are to remain here.”

“Remain here?” questioned Ned, while he was happier about the news this was unlike his wife. She loved their children fiercely and would do anything to make sure they were protected. “But why? They’ve never seen the home of your birth and they have yet to meet their uncle Edmure.”

Cat sat down across from him at the edge of the pond. “Ned, I need to get out of this castle, out of this country. Since… for some time it all feels like when I’m in the presence of this weirwood. The feeling that I don’t belong here and never will.”

“Cat, you’re making it sound like you want me to set you aside.” Ned thought of her words and noticed she hesitated about one thing. “How long have you been feeling like this? You were going to say ‘since’ something, but you changed.”

She opened her mouth to speak but the words stuttered in her mouth. “I… I did something terrible, Ned. I didn’t regret it at first, but now my actions weigh down on every part of me.” Her voice carried sorrow. Whatever it was, she was being truthful about it. “Ned… it’s my fault Jon came down with the pox.”

This was the first time Eddard ever heard her call Jon by his first name. “What do you mean?” Ned kept a firm gaze on her, but she kept her eyes to the ground. “Catelyn, explain what you mean.”

She finally looked up to him, fear present in her eyes to admit what she had to say. “I prayed to the seven to make him leave, to take him away. But I was so angry, it didn’t feel enough. So I prayed to make him die.”

Eddard’s hand unconsciously tightened over the handle of Ice. There was a pregnant silence and all Ned could feel was confusion and a rage building up. “You did what?”

“I was just so angry. I couldn’t stand him anymore.”

Ned loosened his grip on Ice and gathered himself. “You prayed for the death of a child?” His voice began to rise, present with anger. “I don’t believe in the seven, therefore I don’t believe that they nor you inflicted Jon with sickness. But to wish the death of a child? Why? I am the one to blame for his being here, so why would you ask your gods to kill a child who is nothing but kind to ours, who has to suffer being shamed for bearing the name Snow?”

“Because I’m jealous of his mother!” She cried out. “Every time I look at him I see eyes that are not mine or yours. Those eyes of a women you loved more than the woman you married and carried your babe inside her. He looks more like a Stark than the children who have the name. Why could another woman give what I can’t?”

Eddard nearly shouted at her. “He’s my blood, damn you!” He wanted to slam his fist at her, to take Ice and cleave right through a tree, something that he could attack and unleash his rage at. He sacrificed his honor to protect Jon, yet he was still suffering because of him.

Eddard took hold of Ice’s scabbard and stood up. “You may go to Riverrun and stay as long as you want. If the children ask why you left, you have to tell them why. But you will remain until Jon’s fate is decided. If he lives, then know that your gods ignored you. If he dies, then be happy that you follow those that would bring death to an innocent child.” Eddard left Catelyn alone and miserable in the Godswood, hoping that she would heed his warning.

In his room, Eddard slouched back in his chair. Every time Catelyn came to him with conflict about Jon, it was like he had to choose between her or Lyanna. There was rarely a time when he could honor both, but this was not one of those times. This time things were growing out of hand. He couldn’t take it anymore and it was becoming more of a problem.

There was a knock on the door as Eddard was gathering his thoughts.

“Milord Stark,” one of his men called, “an owl flew into the ravenry. It had a scroll attached to its leg addressed for you.”

An owl? Who would possibly use an owl to send messages? “You may enter.”

The door open and Eddard was given a scroll stamped with a sigil he wasn’t expecting, a lizard lion circling itself. “House Reed.” He broke the seal and unraveled the parchment. It was from Howland.

 

_ -Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North _

 

_ Word has reached me of your sons illness and the chance it could be fatal. I will be arriving within a fortnight to aid provide aid that no maester can. _

 

_ -Howland Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch _

 

_ The owl knows its way home. Merely feed it and it shall return. _

 

This seemed impossible. How could word have reached the Neck already, and why was there word at all of a bastard falling ill? And how did the Greywater have messenger birds? The castle moved on the water and no raven sent ever returned. Ned had so many questions, but first he had to worry about Jon recovering from the pox. Maester Luwin was heavy in healing links of his chain, but Jon wasn’t improving enough.

“Is there something wrong, milord?” The guard asked.

“Would you see to it that the owl is fed?”

“Of course milord.” The guard was gone as quick as he came.

The crannogmen had ways unknown to the even the wisest of healing maesters to cure that which they can’t. The pox was common in the swamps, but they hardly had to suffer from it. Howland coming to Winterfell was an unbelievable blessing, but to Eddard it almost felt like fate was drawing his old friend to him.

* * *

 

 

Benjen

Riding back through the gates of home felt greater than Benjen imagined it would be. The moment his horse set its first hoof within the walls of the castle he felt a wave of reminiscence overtake him. Too long has he been away from the castle, but it was all the same as he remembered. The sounds, the smell, the feeling of home, everything felt right and most of all it felt less cold than Castle Black. The last time he was at Winterfell was three years ago, before then was when he left to take the black.

As Benjen steered his horse to the stables he noticed some gleeful looks from those who he grew up with. Some of the faces he saw were new, and some were missing that he knew. Luckily one face still remained.

“Hodor!” Hodor walked up to Benjen’s horse and took the reigns from him, smiling as always.

“Hello old friend.” Benjen greeted as he dismounted the horse. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Hodor.”

Benjen gave Hodor a brief hug. “Everything well with you I hope?”

“Hodor.” Hodor responded assuredly.

“And where’s that no good brother of mine? I would’ve thought to expect a welcoming from him.”

“Uncle Benjen!” Before Hodor could give an answer of any kind, Benjen was tackled in the legs by someone excited to see him. He nearly fell on his horse but managed to get his footing.

“Robb, seven hells you’re enormous since I last saw you.” Benjen wrapped his arms around his nephew and let himself enjoy the moment. There was hardly any love at the Wall.

“It’s good to see you uncle Benjen! Did you bring anything from the Wall with you?”

Damn. He was planning to but he completely forgot. “Well, I did bring a piece of it for you, but it melted on the way here.”

Robb looked disappointed. “Then you’ll have to get here faster next time.” At least he bought it.

“I think I rode faster than a dragon could fly. Maybe you should move the castle closer to the Wall when you take over as the Lord of Winterfell.” He patted Robb on his back and let Hodor take his horse to the stables.

Robb shook his head. “It’s so cold here already, so it must be freezing at the Wall. I think I’ll move the castle further south.”

“Benjen couldn’t contain his laughter at the innocence of his nephew. “Well I don’t blame. The men of the Watch never get warm, just less cold.” Benjen looked around and saw many of the Northerners of Winterfell out and about their business. There were two little girls walking out of the castle, neither of them had the red hair that Sansa did which meant she was probably still inside the castle. Maybe at her studies, but Jon on the other hand might be in the training yard. “Tell me Robb, where’s Jon? I would’ve expected him to greet his favorite uncle by now.He’s usually with you isn’t he?”

Robb’s gleeful attitude died down. “He can’t come outside. He got sick and is stuck in bed.”

“Got sick? That’s no fun at all. I’ve seen too many sick men at the Wall, I hoped there would be none where it’s warm. Do you know where your father is?”

Robb nodded and led Benjen out of the courtyard. Before they entered the castle, there was a boy Benjen didn’t recognize who was waiting for Robb and began following when they entered the castle.

“And who might you be?” Benjen asked without looking at the boy.

“I’m Theon Greyjoy.” He replied back.

The hostage of war. “So you’re my brothers ward are ya? My name is Benjen Stark, Lord Eddard’s younger brother and master at arms of Castle Black.”

“You’re part of the Night’s Watch?” Though the boy’s question was out of curiosity, the tone of him was more dull than Alliser Thorne.

“I am. Been sworn since I was fourteen and got promoted six months ago.”

The little Greyjoy had the nerve to chuckle. “The watch must be desperate if they have someone so young teaching men twice your age.”

No, but Benjen killed enough wildlings to get the job. “One of the benefits of learning the sword since I could hold one.”

“You won’t catch me joining the watch. I’d like to take women to bed instead of sheep.”

Benjen turned his head at Theon, amazed of the mouth the boy had. But he was Ironborn after all. “Sheep? Only animals anywhere near the wall are squirrels, rabbits, and not nearly enough elk.”

“Whatever animals there are, doesn’t change that I won’t swear off women.” How old was this boy? Speaking like he already understands the comfort in a woman's embrace when his balls hadn’t even dropped yet. But in the end he was just another one of the great many who saw the Watch as a place to freeze till the end of your days. Unless they took they black themselves, they wouldn’t realize how real the threats beyond the Wall were and that the realms get to rest peacefully because of the sworn brothers give their lives for it.

Robb finally stopped at Ned’s chambers and knocked on the door. “Father, uncle Benjen is here!”

It didn’t take long for Ned to open the door and see his brother. “Ben, by the gods it’s good to see you.”

“Hello Ned.” Benjen shared a brotherly hug with him. “You look well.” Ned commented. 

“I wish I could say the same.” War had changed his older brother, his face was harsher, but not completely different. No, what worried Benjen was the torment in his brothers eyes.“What’s this I hear about Jon being sick?”

Ned looked worse than Robb did. “It’s… not good. Robb, why don’t you go find Sansa and tell her Benjen arrived.”

“Yes father.” Robb left quickly with Theon following close behind.

Once they were out of earshot, Ned explained. “Three days ago, Jon collapsed with the pox. He hasn’t left his bed ever since. Maester Luwin said the worst has yet to come, but I fear it might overtake him.”

“It won’t.” Benjen assured. “Jon’s a strong lad. If he can take the shit everyone gives him for being a bastard, he can take the pox.”

“I appreciate your confidence, I wish I had it. Come, have seat.” Ned gestured to one of his chairs and Benjen was happy to sit down.

“I passed some of Umber’s men on the way here. Did they catch the deserter?”

“Aye, took his head this morning.”

Benjen had no sympathy for those that abandoned the watch. They said the words, they had to honor them. Most of the men who came freely didn’t understand what it was they were giving up when they took their vows, and it was too late when they realized it. “I didn’t know the man, but I heard he was ambushed by a clan trying to scale the Wall. We lost two good brothers while the coward survived.”

“The Wildlings are getting bolder. I’ve had more reports of them south of the Wall this year than I had in the last five.”

“It’s not boldness, it’s something else. There’s strange things happening, Ned. One of the villages we have an arrangement with was deserted.”

Ned didn’t look to surprised at that. “Maybe they found better land to live on.”

“No, you don’t understand. They didn’t pack up and leave, they disappeared. Food and supplies were abandoned. There were signs of a fight but no bodies. It’s like they decided to leave with nothing. Those were good people with nowhere to go.”

“Then, what happened?”

“Our best trackers had no idea. We spent days looking for any sign of them, but we didn’t find anything.” There was more to it, but Lord Commander Mormont forbade any sharing of the knowledge until he could get a better explanation. There were bodies, but not human. The animals the wildlings had were slaughtered and cut up, their remains arranged in a pattern that no one had any knowledge of its meaning.

“Winter is coming, Benjen. We’d best be ready for it.”

“Winter is coming.” Their words had many meanings behind them but only Starks knew the true meaning was to be ready for when the brightest moments become the darkest.

Before they could continue, the door burst open and Benjen watched a toddler waddle in.

“Arya,” Ned stood up from his seat and walked over to the little girl, “you need to knock before you open.”

“Knock,” the girl repeated. “Who that?” She pointed at Benjen.

“That’s your uncle Benjen, go say hello.”

Benjen got up from his seat and kneeled down to get as close to the girl’s eye level as he could. “Hello little one. What’s your name?”

“Arry!” She yelled out.

Benjen smiled at her as she walked up to him. “Hello Arya. My name is Benjen.”

“Benjy.” She said.

Robb walked through the door followed by Sansa. Theon waited outside the door.

“Uncle Benjen!” Sansa ran up to Benjen and smothered him with a hug. “It’s so good to see you!”

“Sansa, my goodness look at you! Still as beautiful as your mother.” Ned’s face twitched when Benjen mentioned Catelyn. They must’ve had another fight. “And your hair, it looks wonderful.” Seeing them together brought Benjen’s spirits up more than they had been in years. He missed his family and cherished every moment he was given with them. The children were starting to crowd him more than a batch of new recruits ready to train.“Well if you’re all here, then that just leaves the newest Stark whom I have yet to meet. Then after that, how about we go see Jon?”

None of the children seemed to have any objections, but the Greyjoy boy was still acting like a little twat. The only thing he knew of Bran was a single letter.

“Bran is asleep right now,” Ned informed, “so it might be best to go see Jon first.”

While the children waited in the hall with one of the Kingsguard, Benjen sat by Jon’s beside. His breathing was deep and his body was drenched in sweat. He looked asleep but he was barely awake. His eyes cracked open and widened when he saw who was next to him.

“Uncle Benjen” Jon’s voice was above a whisper and took his entire breath to say just a few words.

“Hello Jon.”

“Did you… bring something… from the Wall?”

Damn these boys had good memory. “I’m sorry, but I forgot to.” He didn’t feel like now was the time to lie to Jon for his mistake. “But there’s a wildling who’s an ally of the Watch, he makes carvings out of mammoth tusks. I’ll bring one back just for you.”

Jon smiled, or tried to but ended up coughing heavily and cried out in pain.

Maester Luwin entered the room with a tray of medicine, some rags and a bowl of snow. “Lord Benjen, so good to see you returned.”

“And to you Maester.”

While Maester Luwin tended to Jon, the other children came inside but kept their distance. Benjen realized that Jon might not be awake for much longer so now was as good a time as any to tell some of his stories to the children, at least the ones that wouldn’t give them nightmares. Maester Luwin wrapped some snow in a cloth and laid it upon Jon’s forehead. “Does that feel better Jon?” Maester Luwin asked.

Jon nodded his head lightly.He looked absolutely terrible the way he was. 

Benjen felt like horse shit for forgetting to bring something, but maybe he could fix this. He turned to the other children. “I feel I owe you lot for my poor memory, so how about I tell you all a story of something I saw beyond the Wall.” All the children had looks of curiosity in their eyes.

“What did you see?”

Benjen smirked at them. “A giant.” he told them.

Immediately the children gathered around and sat down on the warm stone floor while Benjen pull up a stool. “Now, let me tell you of the giant I saw in the lands beyond the Wall.” Theon Greyjoy stood at the door and acted like he wasn’t interested but anyone could tell that he really was. Ned had a similar expression, but his was true. “About a year ago, I was on range in the Frostfangs with one of the greatest Rangers I’ve ever met. His name is Qhorin Halfhand.”

“Why do they call him Halfhand?” Robb asked.

It would be better if he didn’t go into the full story of that for the children’s sake. “He fought against a wilding and got three fingers cut off by an axe on his right hand. That was years ago, now he is one of the best left handed swordsmen I’ve ever seen. So, I was in the Frostfangs with him and one of the other skilled rangers named Cooper, he was a man from Dorne. We were looking for a party of Wildlings from the clan the Sharshans, some of the nastiest and meanest wildlings ever known. We had gone further north than I had ever been. The mountains there are jagged and sharp and perilous to climb if you didn’t know how. One night, we were camped inside a narrow cave during a blizzard. We couldn’t risk starting a fire without giving away our position so we had to huddle up. But the Sharshans we were looking for were not as smart. We saw a light flickering on a mountain across from the one we took shelter in. If we didn’t move then, we would have lost the trail in the blizzard. We journeyed through the coldest snow I’ve ever felt and finally took the Sharshans by surprise! But what we didn’t realize were how many there were. Three skilled swordsmen against eleven wildlings, who do you think would win?”

Sansa was the first to answer. “You did of course!”

“We fought as hard as we could, but Sharshans are ferocious fighters. We cut down six of them before we had to flee for our lives. Qhorin and I rushed down the mountain as fast as we could. But we weren’t paying attention to what we were stepping on. What we thought was solid ground actually ice. It cracked and caved in and we all fell into an underground cavern. Qhorin and I were lucky to be unharmed, but the Thenns all died in the fall. What we didn’t realize was that there was something else in the cavern with us.” Robb leaned in closer to listen to every detail. Benjen looked over to Jon and saw he was still awake and paying as much attention as everyone else. “Inside that cavern was creature twenty feet tall, a giant if I ever saw one. His hair was like a thick curtain and his fingers were the size of full grown hounds. When he saw us, he let out a mighty bellow and scared us right out of that cavern. If we weren’t fast enough, that giant would have pounded us straight into the ground.”

“Wow.” Robb said in amazement. “You really did see a giant.”

Benjen smiled at him.

The sun was getting low and Ned was preparing to join the King for a secret hunt. Benjen was surprised to have been invited to go along with them, and how could he refuse? He had been riding for days and was hungry for something other than squirrels and berries.

In the Great Hall, Benjen was pleased when he was served a bowl of hot potato soup. He wanted to eat all at once, but he learned that a starving man could kill himself by eating the very thing he needed to live too fast.

Ned was kind enough to join him for a quick meal before they were to leave. “So, what was it you really found in that cavern?”

It was obvious to Ned that most of what Benjen said was exaggerated. “The Sharshans we were tracking killed nine of my brothers and then ate them, fucking cannibals. I hate that clan more than the Thenns. But their strength rivals them and they are worse to fight. They were too much for us when we found them. I nearly lost my arm and Qhorin his other hand. But Cooper lost his leg and was eaten alive. We had no choice but to run. When we fell, the Sharshans all had broken bones and could only lay in the cold as Qhorin and I cut their throats and left them to bleed to death. The thing that gets to me most was the silence. The Sharshans didn’t make a sound as we killed then, didn’t even blink. They don’t fear death which makes them some of the worst enemies we have.” Benjen took a large swing of his ale. He needed something to help carry the memory away. “There was no giant, only Wildling skeletons, dozens of them. A clan of of them young and old got themselves trapped and died. It was horrifying to see. The skeletons had frozen flesh over them and retained the shapes of the wildlings. There were babes at the breasts of their mothers and children lying alone.” Benjen stopped eating his soup and looked at his brother with all seriousness. “The Watch is failing Ned. In ten years we’ll be less than a thousand men. We need help.”

Ned nodded. “I’ll send what I can to take the black and serve. I’ll try and ask Robert for the same.”

Benjen couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“What’s so funny?”

“Just the delusion of the Night’s Watch that we of the North were fed as children. There is no adventure north of the Wall, only death and ice.” 

* * *

 

Catelyn

Ever since her confrontation with Ned, Catelyn felt lost and confused. But above that she was frustrated at herself. She kept asking herself everything that he did in the godswood. How could she have prayed for the death of a child? She wanted to speak to Ned, but he refused to see her once Benjen had arrived. After Benjen’s visit to meet Bran, Ned disappeared to gods know where with the King. She hoped he would return soon, but if he did would he listen to her? Did she deserve to be listened to? All these things kept bringing her to the same answer when she asked them to herself.  _ ‘No, what kind of husband would listen to the worst mother that ever lived.’ _

Catelyn couldn’t let herself continue moping in regret while Ned was away and Jon had to suffer what she prayed for. She decided to watch over him in his room until Ned returned. Jon was asleep but the sounds he was making made it seem he was awake. He groaned and coughed as his head rustled from side to side.

Catelyn had started weaving a seven-pointed star in hopes that it would bring protection to him. As she worked and listened to Jon’s suffering, her thoughts began to dwell to who the boy’s mother was. Eddard Stark was the most honorable man she ever knew, yet what kind of woman could make him forget his honor.

There was a knock on the door and it cracked open.

“Yes?” Catelyn called out.

“My Lady,” Ser Barristan said, “your daughters are here to see you.”

“You may let them enter.”

Ser Barristan opened the door all the way and Sansa walked in with Arya. Something that surprised Catelyn was that Arya and holding onto Sansa’s hand. They never held hands before.

“Mother,” Sansa said, “could you help me with my stitching?”

Catelyn just finished the Stranger of the star and set it aside. “Yes, my sweetling. But Someone has to keep an eye on Arya.”

“My lady,” Ser Barristan entered the room, “I would be happy to watch over your daughter if you’d like.”

“That is very kind of you, Ser Barristan, I wouldn’t mind at all.” Arya looked marveled at the knight’s gleaming armor and white cloak. He held his helmet at his side and handle her with care. Had he not become a Kingsguard and taken a wife years ago, Barristan Selmy might have made a wonderful father and grandfather.

Catelyn sat with Sansa and was given what she was working on. Sansa was trying to make a white direwolf on a grey field. The colors of their house reversed as a bastard of a lord would do for a sigil. Such skill at so young give Catelyn a flicker of pride in her. She spent about an hour assisting her daughter to make the wolf before Sansa fell asleep in her chair, Arya followed not long after.

Ser Barristan laid Arya down against the wall near Sansa’s chair and then stood over Jon and looked at him.

“It’s strange,” he said, “he looks just like him.”

“Like who?” Catelyn inquired.

“Aegon the Conqueror. About fifteen years ago I visited Dragonstone with Prince Rhaegar. Inside the castle there were hundreds of tapestries, some dating back to before the Doom. One of these tapestries showed a young Aegon and his sisters, long before they set off to Conquer the Seven Kingdoms. I imagine if when Jon Snow is the age of a young man and had silver hair, they would be nearly identical.”

Catelyn had never seen any form of image of King Aegon Targaryen the First. She looked at Jon’s face and tried to imagine what Ser Barristan described. Due to the Stark blood in Jon, Catelyn was unable to picture a clean shaven face of Aegon and thought of him wearing a platinum silver beard from one ear to the next. Her imagined version of the Conqueror of Westeros had every aspect a king would. But even then, how would they look the same? Perhaps his...mother... had some Valyrian blood in her. Enough for them to share likeness, but nothing more. It didn’t matter if they looked the same, Snow would never possess the aspect of a king because of his status as a bastard.

Catelyn resumed her work on her seven point star. Her mind was distracted for a time, but she had been reminded of what she done when Jon whimpered out in pain. Every time he made a noise like that, the words of her prayer came back to haunt her.

_ Make him die, take the boy away, make him die… _

With a shuddering breath Catelyn silently worked on her star, but the silence would not let those accursed words from leaving her head. 

“Is everything alright, Lady Stark?” Ser Barristan asked.

Catelyn wanted to keep silent, to tell the old knight no and have him leave her be. But the more she contained things within herself, the more it drove her mad. “Ser Barristan, you’ve done many things in your life, served many men and had taken orders for king's and royals. But is there anything you regret? Any action you wished to undo?”

Ser Barristan looked puzzled for a moment before his eyes trailed to Snow then returned to her. “I admit to having my share of them and I don’t think there’s a man who ever lived without one. But my greatest regret is what gave me my white cloak.”

Catelyn couldn’t believe what she heard, but she must have misunderstood him. “Forgive me, but I think I misunderstood you. Did you mean that you regret joining the Kingsguard?”

Ser Barristan hesitated to answer. “Sometimes I do, but what I was referring to was the deed I did to earn being accepted into the order.”

Catelyn knew little of Ser Barristan. She heard a few words of him here and there and knew that it was he who slew Maelys Blackfyre in the War of the Ninepenny Kings and ended the Blackfyres once and for all. She had to guess that was it. “Was it for your valor at the Stepstones?”

Ser Barristan chuckled. “Yes, yes it was my valor.” His words were lightly exaggerated and he looked unsettled after he said that. “I slew Maelys in single combat and ended the war. But few ever ask why it was me he slew him. The only ones who do died at Summerhall.”

Catelyn couldn’t help but ask. “What happened?”

“When the King sent the call to arms, my younger brother, Tobias, was refused to join me. I was fool enough to defy my father and brought him with me. He was eighteen, and a better swordsman than I was at that age. But was never given an opportunity to squire and be knighted. I thought if he earned glory on the field it would be enough.” Ser Barristan closed his eyes and almost broke into tears. “We got separated on the field of battle, and I soon was given two choices. To fight with my brother, or challenge Maelys. I chose the latter, I knew my brother could handle himself, or I thought I did. He..” his voice grew somber, “he was surrounded and stabbed eight times before he was left to die. After I slew Maelys, I found his body, mutilated and hardly recognizable. If I had chosen to go with him, he might have lived or we would have died together, anything but having to see what remained of him.” He gathered himself out of his sadness and spoke more calmly. “I chose the realm over my own family, the qualities of a Kingsguard.”

Catelyn was stunned to hear that. Family was the first of the Tully words. Family, Duty, Honor. “I don’t understand,” Catelyn admitted, “why would you become a Kingsguard after that kind of ordeal?”

“I took the White cloak to remind me of my choice. I chose to put the realm before my brother, and I will do so until the end of my days. Such is the duty of the Kingsguard and the Night’s Watch. Have you ever wondered why both take vows to take no wife and father no children?”

Catelyn never thought about it before. She shook her head.

“Love is the death of duty. What is duty compared to the love of a woman? And what is honor compared to a babe in your arms?”

Catelyn immediately thought of Ned when Ser Barristan said those words. Over there years of marriage, Catelyn became convinced that Ned wouldn’t have betrayed her for some tavern slut like many would say. Whoever it was, he loved her fiercely, her and his bastard. For the first and maybe the only time, she felt no envy towards this woman. But her sadness grew greater. She was Ned’s duty, and the bastard came from his love. Her emotion betrayed her and she felt a tear slip from her eyes.

“Mother?” Sansa said, half awake half asleep. She and Arya started to wake up. “Why are you crying?”

Ser Barristan stood up. “Forgive me if I said something to upset you, Lady Stark.”

Catelyn wiped her face clean. “There’s nothing to forgive. I of all people am the one in need of Forgiveness. I just wish I deserved it.”

Ser Barristan bowed his head and took his watch over the children once again. Catelyn took back to working on the seven pointed star. The constant sounds of Jon’s raspy breaths ate at her heart. She didn’t know whether or not they would be his last or if he had enough strength to last through the pox like Maester Luwin said he might. All of it was just a reminder that she was the one who prayed for this, she was the one who set him on this path that could lead to his death. She stopped weaving her seven pointed star and looked down at the whimpering boy, not seeing him as a stain on her husband’s honor for the first time, but just a sickly boy.

“Mother,” the little Sansa said as she clutched tightly onto her mother’s dress, “Is Jon going to die?” Even though Arya was just at the age of two, she understood what her sister asked and the two of them looked at their mother with worry and fear.

“I don’t know, my sweetlings.” She couldn’t find it within herself to tell them that she hoped not. It was in that moment she turned to the gods with all of her heart, begging them for mercy.  _ ‘Let the boy live, let him live, and I’ll love him. I’ll be a mother to him. I’ll beg my husband to give him a true name, to call him Stark and be done with it. To make him one of us, his family.’ _ Catelyn half expected a sudden change in Jon’s behavior, but there was none, just the same suffering boy that she would stay beside until he lived or until he died.

It was only a moment later that she caught a scent of smoke, but it couldn’t be from inside the room. All of the sudden, there were cries and shouts coming from the window.

“What could that be?” Ser Barristan walked over to the window and looked out. “Seven help us, there’s a fire in one of the towers!”

A fire? How on earth did that happen?

“My lady,” Ser barristan said, “I must ask you remain here. I’ll go assist how I can.”

Catelyn nodded to Ser Barristan and he bolted out of the room. She returned to gazing out the window and watched as many of the residents of the castle gathered to fight against the flames.

“What is it mother?” Sansa asked as she and Arya stayed close to her.

“There’s a fire.” Catelyn looked away at the destruction and to her two daughters. “I want you two to stay here with me.”

Sansa nodded quietly, but then she became wide eyed and looked afraid, but not at her, she was looking behind her mother. All of them felt shivers when a voice behind them spoke out. “You’re not s’pposed to be ere.” Catelyn turned around and saw a ragged man in black, carrying a dagger in one hand. “No one but the King is s’pposed to be ere.”

This man was a catspaw assassin, trying to kill the king. He must have thought this was Robert’s room with Ser Barristan guarding it. “Either way, can’t let no one know I was ere.” He turned his eyes to the girls, no emotion or resentment showing in them as he stepped forward. 

“No!” Catelyn stepped in front of her daughters and rushed towards the man, trying to grab hold of his dagger. He tried to swing the blade at her instead, but she managed to grab onto the hand holding the hilt and the blade. Sansa and Arya began to scream and cry when they saw the blade cutting into their mother’s fingers and blood starting drip onto her sleeves. The man jerked her aside and bashed her against a wardrobe and then threw her to the ground in front of Jon’s bed.

The pain in her fingers stung greatly as the man stood over her and held the dagger at her. Before he could end her life, he failed to see Jon jumping from his bed and tackling him and saving Catelyn.

He yelled out as they both fell to the ground, but Jon barely moved after that. His sickness was making him weak and tired.

Catelyn crawled over to the man’s dagger and tried to wrestle it out of his hand. But in her attempt to gain the upper hand, the man cut the blade across her left arm and kicked in the stomach. The blow was so hard that Catelyn became impaired and couldn’t move.

As the man got to his feet, Jon desperately grabbed onto one of his ankles, but his grip had no strength at all.

“Stupid bastard.” The man grabbed Jon by his shirt and dragged him up against the wall. “Here’s some mercy for ya.” The man ran his blade into Jon’s chest, and a painful scream came out of Jon’s mouth.

“No!” Catelyn shrieked out as she helplessly watched the murderer twisted his blade and sink it deeper into Jon’s chest. He finally pulled the blade out, but only to stab Jon again, this time in his heart. Blood started to spill out of Jon’s mouth as the murderer began to have a small laugh to himself.

But his fit of amusement ended when a table knife was stuck into his arm, cutting into his artery. He grasped at the wound as the table knife was pulled out and failed to contain the river of blood rushing out of his arm. He turned his head and saw Theon Greyjoy standing with the knife and tried to attack him, but his knees buckled on the first step he took to Theon. He pulled the dagger out of Jon as he fell hard to the ground and lied motionless, the dagger rolled out of his hand to Theon’s feet.

Catelyn crawled as fast as she could to Jon’s body as he began to breathe very fast and slumped to the ground. “Snow!” She got to her knees and pulled Jon up from the ground. Resting him on her lap. Her grabbed hold of her dress and squeezed it as hard as his fingers could, the skin of her legs pinched from his grip. He cried and whimpered like a newborn babe. He shivered and squirmed as he began bleeding onto her dress. “Snow, it’s going to be alright now,” Jon never looked up at her, he only kept his eyes to the ground as he always would when she spoke to him. He began to mutter something, but his voice was hard to make out through his whimpers and the blood in his throat. “Jon?”

He finally formed words, but they were that of a scared child, crying desperately. The way he spoke was as if he was begging her with everything he could. “I… I want… my… mo...ther…” His grip on her dress released and his rapid breaths slowed down until he didn’t breathe at all. But his eyes, his eyes remained full of tears and the fear of her. He was dead.

Catelyn felt herself begin to tremble as she realized that Jon died feeling alone, because she made him feel alone and unloved every moment she could. All because she couldn’t stand the sight of a motherless child. She prayed for the Gods to take the boy away from her, and they granted her prayers. She couldn’t stop telling herself that she did this. Jon died because of her and the gods cared nothing for the revoke she begged for.

Catelyn looked at her hands and saw them stained red, unable to tell her blood from Jon’s. Then she heard Sansa starting to scream and cry. But when she looked over to her daughter, Catelyn saw that Sansa and Arya were crying quietly in the corner. It was then she realized that the screams were her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm smiling right now


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before We begin this chapter, allow me to explain why I give previews an not chapters. 1, the main reason is because I am still working on piecing the story together, I have a beginning, maybe half of a middle, and no end. The time I don't spend writing i try to spend working on that. 2, I wanted to finish Night Dragons first because I don't like writing two fics at once. 3. This part of the story is kind've on a parrallel with Night dragons right now, check it if you want, so doing both at the same time is weird because you finish one you read the other and think this is what i just read! 4, I do previews so you know that I haven't forgoteen about the story. How many fics are out there that don't update for months at a time and you're stuck wondering why that is? aNd sadly some of them never update. Previews let you guys know that I'm still here and so is the story. After this, you will get two more chapters and then for the love of CHin Chin I have got to finish ND.

Eddard

The doe was in their sights. Benjen nocked an arrow on the bowstring and pulled back slowly. The wood of the bow creaked as it bent. He breathed out and aimed the head of the arrow in the path he wanted it to take. The air was still in the cold of the night and the he took in the moment before he released the arrow. In just an instance, the creature living and breathing in front of him would soon cease to live at all. He released the arrow and flew perfectly in the air. The head entered the neck of the doe as the creature fell down dead.

“Well done little brother.” Eddard patted Benjen over the shoulder as the two of them got out of the cover of the bushes they hid behind. The Wolfswood was quiet this night, too quiet. There were no sounds of pine needle or leaves rustling in the breeze, no owls hooting in the shadows.

“If only there was such game at the Wall.” Benjen said as he inspected his kill.

Ser Rodrick, Jory, and one of the guards named Hamilton appeared from the cover of a fallen tree riddled with moss and rot. “That makes two for us, milord Stark.” Hamilton said as he picked a patch of moss out of his long brown beard. “I think we already have a better catch than the King if you don’t mind me saying.”

Jory had a chuckle. “No argument there. No one knows this part of the Wolfswood like we do.”

“Aye,” Eddard said, “we should find the King’s party and call it a night. Jory, you take the lead.” While Jory was getting his bearings, Eddard and Benjen retrieved their kill. Benjen pulled the arrow out of the doe’s neck then stabbed an artery with a dagger. The blood rapidly flowed out of the doe’s neck and stained the ground. When the last bit was gone, Eddard lifted the doe up with all his strength and carried it over his shoulder. He and Benjen joined the others and began their walk through the forest. Ser Rodrik made the first kill of the night in their group, but his doe was smaller than Benjen’s.

While looking for Robert and his party, the silence of the night was broken by howling.

“Wolves,” Ser Rodrik placed a hand over the pommel of his sword, “sounds like a pack is close by.”

There were many voices that sang the song of the moon. By Eddard’s count, maybe five or six. “Let’s keep moving. If they get closer we’ll abandon the haul.”

They all pressed forward quicker than before. Even if it were only five wolves against five armed men, two of the men would not see the morning.

The howling continued on. For an instance, Eddard thought he felt a sad weight in the voices of the wolves. But all that ended when a horn blasted from not too far away. It was one that the guards of Winterfell would use as a warning signal. Eddard suddenly became worried more about the horns than he did the wolves.

“Leave the doe. We need to head back, now!” Eddard commanded as he dropped the body from his shoulder as did Ser Rodrik. The men hastened through the forest leaving their kill for the wolves.

As they all pressed on through the trees, the voices of men shouting could be heard.

“Lord Stark! Lord Stark!” It didn’t take long for the Eddard’s party to find some of his men from the castle searching for him. There were at least twenty scattered throughout the trees and all of them looked worried.

“Over here!” Eddard called out.

One of the men saw the hunting party approaching. “I found them!” the guardsman charged though foliage to get to them. “Milord, there was an attack in the castle.”

“In the castle? What do you mean?”

“A catspaw. We think he started a fire in the library tower to distract everyone. Your lady wife said he was after the king.”

“The King is due south of us..wait, how did Catelyn know the assassin was after the king?”

“It’s what he told her. He walked into your bastard’s room thinking it was the king’s and attacked her and your daughters. Lady Catelyn only took some cuts to her hands and her arm and your daughters are unharmed.”

Ned sighed out in relief. “Thank the gods, but how did the catspaw get passed Ser Barristan?”

“He wasn’t there milord. He left to help with the fire.”

Eddard’s relief vanished. “Then who stopped the assassin?”

“Theon Greyjoy. He stabbed the man with a kitchen knife.”

Ser Rodrik gasped. “By the gods. Never thought an Ironborn would save a Stark after a bloody war against each other. So no one was killed?”

The guard was hesitant to speak, almost afraid to mutter words. “There was one death, Ser.” He looked back to Eddard. “I’m sorry milord, but… your bastard took a knife in the heart.”

Eddard lost all the air in his lungs and nearly stumbled over his feet. No, it wasn’t true, it was a jest, a mistake, anything but truth. “A horse,” Eddard muttered, “get me a horse!” He could already see where his men tied theirs down and shoved passed everyone before they could say anything.

Mounted and riding hard, Eddard could not feel the cold wind biting at his face or the burn in his legs. Every step he got closer to the castle, Lyanna’s last words were speaking in his mind’s against his own.

_ ‘No.’ _

_ ‘Promise me, Ned.’ _

_ ‘No!’ _

_ ‘Promise me.’ _

_ ‘Gods NO!’ _

Eddard didn’t even realize it when he rode through the castle gate. He didn’t pay attention to any he passed or care who he had to shove aside to get inside the castle.

Before he knew it, Eddard was at the open doorway of the room he gave to Jon. There was a stain of blood on the stone floor and Cat was in a chair with bandages covering her hands, Maester Luwin was washing his hands in a basin and the sleeves of his robes were covered in blood. And lying on the bed, eyes open and lifeless, chest bare and revealing two wounds from the stab of a knife, was Jon. Eddard almost fell to his knees when he stepped into the room.

Maester Luwin was shocked when he saw Eddard. “My lord Stark.” He got in Eddard’s way but was pushed aside.

“Ned,” Catelyn said, “he…”

Eddard finally lost the strength in his legs when he reached Jon’s bedside. He touched his fingers over Jon’s face and felt nothing but cold. “No.” He scooped Jon’s body in his arms and held him like a newborn babe. Jon was limp and pale. He was dead, nothing was more clear no matter how much Eddard didn’t want to believe it. Eddard hugged Jon to his body and screamed out his sadness and anger to the gods and burst into tears as the truth stabbed into him like sword. He failed to keep his promise to her. Lyanna’s son, his son, was gone.

* * *

 

Daenerys

  
  


Daenerys shot awake as the cart she was sleeping in bumped over a rock in the road, but she didn’t think that was the reason. She turned over and saw her brother resting his head on a sack of potatoes next to one of the dogs with them. She nudged his shoulder. “Viserys.” He didn’t respond the first time so she tried again. “Viserys.”

Viserys grumbled as he shifted and his eyes cracked open slowly. “Dany? What’s wrong?”

“I had a bad dream.”

He sighed out at her. “Dany it was only dream, you have nothing to be afraid of.”

“But it was so scary.” And it felt so real.

Viserys shifted his body and scooted over a little. “Don’t worry Dany, come lay with me and you’ll be safe.”

Daenerys laid up against her brother’s body and a big arm fell over her. He felt like a warm blanket and it made her feel safer.

“Why don’t you tell about your dream? It may help you get over it.” His voice was mumbling as he was still half asleep.

Daenerys shivered when she thought about what she saw. “There was a man with a knife. He looked very scary. He was in a castle and tried to kill a woman but a little boy got in the way and got killed instead. The man called him a bastard, what is that?”

“It’s a child born from parents that aren’t married. They’re the useless scum of Westeros. Even slaves have more importance than them.” Viserys thought lowly of slaves, so bastards must be very bad.

That didn’t make sense to Daenerys. Slaves had masters and no freedom, so how could being a bastard be worse? Are bastards evil? Do they cause nothing but trouble? The boy didn’t look like a bastard, or else why would he get in the way of the man with the knife?

Viserys began snoring lightly. He had already fallen back asleep.

“He bled all over the floor and cried himself to death.” Daenerys started to feel scared to go back to sleep. What if she had the dream again but the man with the knife came after her, or what if she had to watch the boy die again? That woman called him a name. She called him Snow and then Jon just before he died. If he was really a bastard, he didn’t look worthless like Viserys said bastards were. She felt sorry that someone so young had to die like that. She wanted to cry, but she remembered that she was a Targaryen. ‘I am a dragon, and a dragon does not cry,’ was what her brother would say when she was ready to let a tear slip.

She shut her eyes and hoped for a good dream or none at all. There were many days and nights of traveling ahead of them on their way to Pentos and the faster they went the better.

Before Daenerys realized it, she had faded back into slumber. While she didn’t dream, Daenerys could hear someone crying. It sounded like a man.

The morning came quick and the coolness of the night was vanishing quicker as the sun rose. But while there was still some chill in air and cold in the ground, the caravan had stopped for the morning to switch to the day drivers and for all to break their fast.

Viserys’ arrangement with their driver provided food for them, but it wasn’t as much as everyone else had. They had roasted potatoes with salt and some bread with honey, but Viserys and Daenerys were only given one potato and one slice of bread. They had to split their rations until the next meal.

“Eat  it slowly, Dany.” Viserys told her. He ate his bread first while Daenerys ate her potato. It was freshly cooked and the salt made it the taste more tolerable. It was better than the apples they ate the night before.

Viserys would have usually paid for better accommodation than riding in the back of a cart with dogs and potatoes, but with what treasure they had left after getting robbed in the city of Norvos they had to be careful how they spent. Once they got to Pentos, they would be able to sell some of their treasures for more money.

The rest of the day was to be spent as the last ones were, doing nothing but sitting in the cart all day with some potatoes and the two big guard dogs that followed behind. They didn’t bark or bite unless given reason and slept in the wagon with Daenerys and Viserys at night.

The cart bumped along the rock filled trail and keeping steady proved to be a challenge for Daenerys. Viserys was lying back in the cart with a cloth over his eyes to shade him from the light of the sun. in his arms was a sack filled will hand forged metal trinkets, but hidden inside was a satchel with the last of the treasures.

With no one to talk to, not that anyone wanted to, Daenerys passed the time by practicing her High Valyrian.

“Se azantys fights lēda rigle, Zaldrīzoti sōvegon isse se jēdar, Iksan olvie biare naejot ūndegon se… se… Viserys, what’s the word for castle in High Valyrian?”

“Sombāzmion.” He replied.

“Iksan olvie biare naejot ūndegon se sombāzmion, se zokla ērinnon se zaldrīzes.”

“The wolf victory the dragon? What are you trying to say?” Viserys sat up and took the cloth of his eyes. There was a little bit of anger in his expression.

“The wolf defeated the dragon.”

Without warning Viserys reached out and slapped Daenerys across the face. Her cheek stung and her wrist was grabbed by Viserys when she tried to cover it. “Nothing can defeat a dragon,” he hissed, “do you think I’m going to let those dogs in the North or that drunken usurper stand in my way when I sail with an army to take back the throne!?!”

“No, I didn’t mean it, I was just practicing!”

Viserys glared at Daenerys with a fire in his eyes before let go of her wrist and felt her cheek. He smiled at her, either relieved or satisfied. “Sweet sister, you almost woke the dragon, something you know you mustn’t do.” He sighed out and lied back down. “Why don’t you try practicing something else?”

Viserys always got angry whenever the defeat of their family was mentioned. He hated to be reminded that a Usurper and his dog stole the throne and the kingdoms from their father, of how their brother was bewitched by a Northern whore. Anything about the Usurper’s Rebellion risked waking the dragon. He never talked much about the war that led to their exile. When he did, it 

was when he was in a good mood and felt the need to educate her about their home.

Before Daenerys could think of something else to do, the cart came to a stop.

Viserys sat back up. “What’s going on?” He turned to the driver. “Why are we stopping?”

“Shut your mouth.” The driver shot back. “Tryin to listen.”

Daenerys leaned over the side of the cart and looked ahead. She could see a man on horseback speaking with the leader of the caravan. After a moment, the rider proceeded to speak with the other cart and wagon drivers. It didn’t take long for the rider to get to cart  Daenerys and Viserys were in.

“What’s going on?” The driver asked.

“A Dothraki horde of two thousand screamers is about thirty miles west of here. You’ll be taking a detour to the fork of the Rhoyne River to avoid them.” The rider moved on to the wagon behind them and continued to relay his message.

The caravan had already begun to adjust its course, but the direction was mostly back the way they came.

“The fork of the Rhoyne?” Viserys asked. “how much longer will it take us now?”

“Backtracking and possible waiting… maybe a month until we get to the city.”

“A month? We were supposed to arrive within the fortnight!”

The driver pulled on the reigns of his horse and halted the cart. “You’re welcome to get out and walk there yourself, and don’t forget the Dothraki. I’m very interested to know how you plan to get past them.” The driver gave Viserys a heavy stare before Viserys turned away and laid down. “That’s what I thought.” The driver whipped the reigns and resumed to follow the rest of the caravan.

There’s was about an hour of silence except for the wind and the grass waving in the breeze. A few horsemen had joined the caravan, though it probably so that if the Dothraki did find them, they could ride away while the caravan was raided. There were less than a dozen fighters so there wouldn’t be much of a battle.

“Viserys,” Daenerys said, “could you tell me more about our home?” The sting in her cheek had finally faded and Viserys now looked calm enough.

“Like what? I’ve told you everything you need to know that’s important.”

“But what about the things that aren’t? I might as well know.”

Viserys sat up. “Is there anything specific?”

She wanted to know more about her dream. The way things looked were unlike anything she had seen in Essos.. The only thing she could really ask about was the name she heard. “Is there a House Snow somewhere?”

Viserys scoffed. “Snow is the name given to bastards of the North.” So this Jon Snow was from the North. “What made you ask?”

“It was in the bad dream last night.” He must not remember waking up. “I saw a boy named Snow stabbed in the heart.”

Viserys chuckled. “Well that’s one less bastard to haunt your dreams. Bastards are the scum of Westeros.” He had forgotten last night, but his attitude was the same. “They all have names for whichever kingdom the are born in. Sand, Flowers, Waters, Storm, Snow, any cursed to have these names is destined for nothing. The only bastards to ever rise up to power shared our blood.”

“The Blackfyres.”

Viserys nodded. “The blood of Valyria is sacred, and five rebellions came from tainted blood. Only Targaryens with pure blood get to sit on the Iron Throne. When I retake what was stolen from us, you’ll be by my side, as my Queen.”

Daenerys almost shuddered at the reminder. Viserys had taught her many times about keeping the Targaryen bloodline pure. She knew that her mother and father were brother and sister, but Ser Willem Darry once told her that her mother was married against her will. Viserys got mad when she asked about it, claiming that Ser Willem was lying. He told her that their father was a great man, and a great king, and their mother was a beautiful queen. But that didn’t mean she was happy.

The ground changed from hard and rock filled to thick and grass as the caravan continued to go far off the trail. There were four men on horseback nearby with their swords drawn. Even though the Dothraki were far away, there were other dangers in these parts like bandits and outlaws, maybe even slavers.

“Viserys?” Dany said as she scooted closer to him. “Can you show me the crown again.”

“Shh!” Viserys nearly hit her again but he held himself back this time. He leaned in close to her and whispered soft but harshly. “If anyone sees mother’s crown out here we’ll have our throats cut before tomorrow.”

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t think-”

“No, you didn’t think. You never think about anything, Dany. That kind of rashness will get you into trouble someday.”

Viserys was one to talk. He was always acting rashly whenever someone did something to insult him. It’s how they ended up getting robbed three moons ago and it’s why they were forced out of Ser Willem’s home after the kind knight died.

Daenerys pulled her knees to her body and kept quiet, trying to hide feeling ashamed.

Viserys sighed and pulled the bag to him. He opened it and rummaged deep before pulling out a small ashwood box with many carved patterns on the sides and their family sigil carved in the lid. “This is small enough to go unseen. You can look at this, but don’t even think about dropping it. It has more value than the crown.

He handed the box to her and she carefully cracked the lid. When she opened it all the way, a small red ruby caught the light of the sun at the perfect angle that made it glow like a flame. The ruby was carved into the Targaryen sigil, something that could not be done by any jeweler today.  Only the Valyrians before the Doom had the skill to do such a thing. The rest of the ring was made of a metal called platinum, a metal more valuable than gold but only a tenth the value of Valyrian Steel. The metal was shaped like flames so intricately that when they reflected in light it was like they moved.

“It’s so beautiful.” Daenerys said.

“It’s not Valyrian Steel, but that ring has as much worth as three swords made of it. That will buy us our army, Dany,” he told her, his eyes wide and unfocused “That ring is the key to taking back our home.”

* * *

 

Catelyn

 

Winterfell was colder than it had been for thousands of years. Not a single smile was seen the morning after the assassination attempt. News of the death spread fast and Ned had kept himself in his room after he woke the entire castle with his howling last night. Everyone was in a state of mourning, but when Robb found out he was nearly as heartbroken as Ned was.

None of the children were handling things well. Sansa and Arya couldn’t sleep at all and Robb barely ate anything for breakfast. Theon Greyjoy didn’t show his face around the castle after killing the catspaw.

Ravens had been sent to nearly all the Houses of North telling of the attempted murder of the King and the death of Jon Snow. Some went to the south mainly to inform those in service to the King.

Catelyn was with Maester Luwin getting her bandages changed. The cuts on her arm and hands were spared of any rot thanks to quick treatment, but they would scar and never fade. They would forever mark her body as a reminder of the prayer that was granted and remind her of her cruelty she gave to a boy for all eight years of his life.

“Is there any pain, my lady?” Maester Luwin asked.

“Just a little.” She told him. “But it’s nothing unbearable.” She could still feel the sting of the blade’s cut in her palms. More than that the cuts were cold and could not be warmed.

Maester Luwin finished wrapping her wounds with fresh bandages. Aside from her, two guards received burns from the fire last night. They were resting on beds for the sick and wounded.

Having no more reason to be tended to, Catelyn left to go do something she had to do. Something she begged for but was denied by the gods. Now only a king could give her what she sought.

King Robert had been furious that an assassin tried to kill him, even more so that a child of Ned’s took a knife meant for him. At first he blamed the Greyjoys, thinking that an Ironborn sent the catspaw to exact revenge for their lost rebellion. He demanded Theon Greyjoy to be executed, but after many calming words and convincing from his Kingsguard and a few of the Stark Household, Ser Rodrik included, the King agreed to stay his hammer. But the only reason he agreed to was because it was Ned’s life to take.

Catelyn knew Ned well enough that he would never take Theon Greyjoy’s life to pay for Jon’s, but she had never seen him in such a state.

Approaching the King’s room, Catelyn had to pass the one Jon was in and the door was wide open. Looking for just a moment, she saw the blood stains were scrubbed from the floor, the assassin’s body gone, and lying underneath a clean white sheet was a dead boy. A great cold engulfed Catelyn’s heart when she saw the outline of Jon’s body and she took faster steps when she passed the room.

Arriving at the door to the King’s room guarded by Ser Barristan, Catelyn knocked thrice and waited for a response.

“Yes?” The King’s voice called.

Ser Barristan announced her. “It’s Lady Catelyn, your grace.”

“Send her in.” Ser Barristan opened the door and Catelyn stepped in. The King was sitting on the edge of his bed and across from him was Ser Jaime. “Leave us, Kingslayer.” Ser Jaime bowed his head and left the room, leaving the King with Catelyn. “My lady, I’m sorry for your husband’s loss.”

“Thank you, your grace.”

“Now, what can I do for you?”

“Your grace,” Catelyn began, trying to keep herself humble, “my husband is still in a state of… mourning. On his behalf I wish to express House Stark’s apologies for allowing such an event occur. Had you not gone on a hunt, you may very well have met the assassin’s blade instead.”

“That I might have. But there is nothing to apologize for. Ned is the one who suffered from this. And the boy took a knife meant for me. I won’t forget these past few days, ever. I am in debt to him, but I cannot repay the dead.”

“Your grace,” Catelyn said, “If it isn’t too much of me to say, but if you truly mean to pay that debt, I know of a way you can.” The king arched his brow and waited for Catelyn to tell him. “I beg of you, let the boy be buried with his father’s name. Let him rest with is kin as a Stark.”

“You’re asking me to legitimize him?”

“I am, your grace.”

“I heard from Ned that you have a certain scorn for the bastard. It surprises me that you would make a request such as this.”

“I did hate him, your grace. But he was only a child, he didn’t deserve my hatred in life. He deserves peace in death.”

The King glared at her for a few seconds, like he was studying her. “I’ll think about it. However, I have some urgent matters I need to discuss with my Kingsguard. I’ll give you my answer before the day is over.”

“Thank you, your grace.” Catelyn curtseyed and left the King’s room.

In her heart, Catelyn hoped that the King would be willing to do such a thing, to give Jon what he did not have in life.

She opened the door to the chambers and saw Ned sitting against the wall underneath an open window. His gaze was fixed to the ground and anyone would have mistaken him to be dead as well. Catelyn had no idea why, but she was just as afraid to be in Ned’s presence as she was to be in the Winterfell godswood.  She approached him slowly, but he didn’t move a single inch or show any sign of acknowledgement. “Ned,” her voice in a state of remorse, “I’ve just spoken with Robert and… I’ve asked him to naturalize Jon before his burial.” Ned didn’t respond, he didn’t even look at her, he just kept his gaze to the ground. “I’m sorry, Ned. I’m sorry for everything I did to him, the harshness, the cruelty. I should have been a mother to him. He was your son and never knew a mother’s love. I’m not asking for forgiveness, I don’t deserve it-”

“He wasn’t my son.”

Catelyn felt a loss of breath. She thought she imagined his voice and the words he said, but in her heart she knew she didn’t. “You… he-”

“He was Lyanna’s. Her trueborn son with Rhaegar.” He finally looked up to Catelyn. “I promised her I would protect him on her deathbed, I promised her and I failed.”

Catelyn nearly fell backwards when she heard what she did. Her eyes locked with Ned’s and she couldn’t believe what just said. There wasn’t a single trace of dishonesty in his words, but they couldn’t be true.

“I couldn’t tell you, I couldn’t tell anyone. I couldn’t let him be killed like his brother and sister.”

He spoke so plainly, yet his words were like a great flood that consumed Catelyn, swallowed her to the deepest depths. Breathing started to become a difficulty and she stumbled backwards, barely catching herself on the wall. His words kept repeating themselves in her mind, but one thing stood out to her. “Her… and Rhaegar’s trueborn?”

Ned sighed. “Everything the Rebellion was built on wasd a lie. Rhaegar never kidnapped her or raped. They loved each other and ran away together, marrying in secret in Dorne.”

Now Catelyn wished she never knew this. She had not the words nor the wisdom of how to respond. Things started to make more sense now, and yet they were much more confusing to her. But above all the one thing that Catelyn had struggled to realize for so long was Ned’s motives. Catelyn had realized that Jon came from a woman Ned loved fiercely, she just never thought it to be his own blood, his sister.

Catelyn felt the strength in her legs leaving her. She moved to a chair and sat down and caught her breath. All this time, she hated the boy for being something he wasn’t. And he was a King, the last trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen.

“I’m sorry Cat,” Ned said. “There were so many times I wanted to tell you, to tell Benjen, but I couldn’t. The only people who knew swore a vow of secrecy.”

There were others that knew. Before Catelyn could ask, there was a knock on the door before Ser Jaime entered. “My lord, my lady, the king wishes a word.” For the first time of ever seeing him, the Kingslayer did not wear that smug look on his face.

Ned tried to stand up, but his legs were weak and he nearly fell to the ground had he not caught himself on the bed. After a moment Ned found his strength and stood straight.

Ser Jaime stood aside as the King entered the room. “Ned, gods you look terrible.” The king sighed out heavily. “When I lost my firstborn, I was in rage, but to have a child murdered it’s just… I can’t imagine what you are feeling.”

Ned didn’t give any form of response except closing his eyes and dropping his head.

“I’ve come to inform you that my company and I will be heading back for King’s Landing in a few days. Should another assassin come, I would not give them the chance to endanger another child of my friend. And once Jon hears of this, he’ll be an utter wreck for my safety and for your condition.”

Ned lifted his head up and opened his eyes. “I understand.”

“But after some thought, I’ve agreed to your wife’s request.”

Ned looked over at Catelyn, puzzled.

“I’ll have the document written  by tonight, but on the morrow, your son will be Jon Stark.”

_ ‘Except now he doesn’t need it. He never was a bastard.’  _ Catelyn thought.

Ned shifted his gaze to Robert, wide eyed and mouth gaping. “Robert, I… thank you for this.”

The King nodded at Ned with half a smile. “I shall take my leave.” Robert made his way for the door but then stopped. “Oh, I nearly forgot to ask.” He turned back to Ned. “What do you plan to do with the Greyjoy whelp? I know he killed the assassin, but we still don’t know who sent the monster. For all we know he was sent by Balon and Theon didn’t know.”

Ned shook his head. “It couldn’t have been Balon, not with his heir here and his armies broken. Even if it was, Theon’s blade wasn’t the one that killed Jon.”

The King sighed. “Whatever the verdict, the boys fate lies in your hands.” He left the room after that.

The Kingslayer stayed for a brief moment. “You have my condolences, Stark.” He left without uttering another word.

Catelyn sat back down in her chair and nearly buried her face in her hands before remembering the healing cuts on her palms. Everything was becoming more catastrophic by the hour. Catelyn felt as Ned did at her in the godswood when she confessed to him. She wanted to shout, to yell, to scream at something and she didn’t know why. She was so confused and frustrated, she couldn’t think calmly.

“Ned,” She said with a controlled tone, “I do not know what you expect me to say to you. I understand why now and at the same time I still can’t believe it. But right now, our children need you. Robb and Sansa are scared and Arya doesn’t know what happened. They need their father.” Catelyn had been taken away by Maester Luwin for healing before she could be with the children, she hadn’t seen them since last night.  Ned nodded in understanding as he got up and went to where the children were.

They were all with Benjen in his room, all except for Theon Greyjoy. Benjen sat alone in a chair with his sword on his lap, as if he was expecting another attack. The children all sat on his bed against the backing. Arya was lying across Robb’s lap and Sansa was hugging his arm, all of them asleep.

Benjen got up and set his sword aside when he saw Ned and Catelyn at the door. “Glad you finally showed your face.” He was clearly irritated at Ned. “You have the right to mourn more than anyone, but that doesn’t mean you leave your children scared for the whole night.” Arya had suddenly started to fuss and cry, waking up Robb and Sansa. “I’ll be in the training yard if you need me.” Benjen left the room.

Catelyn hurried over to Arya and sat her up. “Arya,” she spoke soothingly, “are you alright, were you having a bad dream.”

Arya nodded as she wiped the tears off her face. “Scary man hurt mama.” She was dreaming of last night. At her age such a event would haunt her at night for a long time.

“Father?” Robb said, “is Jon really gone? Is he dead?”

Ned silently nodded. “The knife that killed him pierced his heart… there was no chance to save him.” Robb was on the verge of crying as was Sansa.

“Mama,” Arya said, “what dead?”

Catelyn wasn’t sure how to explain this so Arya could understand. Her baby girl was only two years old so she wouldn’t know half of what Catelyn told her. She tried to remember when she first learned what death meant. It was when her mother died with her baby brother in childbirth. Father was never the same after that day.

Catelyn took Arya into her arms, ignoring the pain in her hands. She had no answer to give.

“We never even got to say goodbye,” Sansa said.

Ned took Sansa’s small hand in his, trying to give her comfort. “Death is never a goodbye. Though Jon may be gone from us, his memory will remain with us always. He will sleep eternally in the crypts with our kin and always be with us in here.” Ned placed a finger over Sansa’s heart. “But if it would help you feel better, would like to say goodbye?” Sansa nodded as did Robb. “You will get to before he is taken to the crypts.”

“But what about right now?” Robb asked.

“Now? Are you sure you want to see him now?”

“He’s my brother. I want to see him as much as I can before he goes into the crypts.”

Ned nodded. “Very well. Sansa, would you like come with us?”

Sansa didn’t say anything. She just held onto Ned’s hand as he and Robb left.

Catelyn followed after them with Arya still in her arms, but she dared not enter the room where Jon was. She waited outside the door with Arya, listening.

“Goodbye, big brother.” Sansa said.

“The last time I’ll see ya, you’ll be all in black.” Robb tried to keep his spirits up, but he later broke into tears.

It wasn’t a long visit, but they all took their time inside. Ned came out with the children and closed the door behind him. “Robb, could watch over Sansa and Arya for today? There’s something I need to do.”

Robb sniffed up at Ned. “Yes father.”

Catelyn set Arya down and the two girls followed after Robb without any objection. Once they were gone, Ned swiftly turned back and walked down the hallway. “Ned? What is it?”

“The knife that killed Jon, it wasn’t with the catspaw’s remains and no one knows where it is, but I think know who has it.”

Catelyn almost forgot about the knife. It wasn’t a common looking weapon. There was gold in the handle and maybe even a jewel or two. The knife had gone missing that night, no one but a few had been in the room and none of them had it. But when Catelyn found herself with Ned at the door to Theon’s room, she realized that he was gone before anyone else came.

Ned didn’t bother knocking and tried to open the door, but it was locked. He banged his fist against the wood. “Theon? Open the door.” There was no response. “Theon open the door or I swear by the Old Gods and the New I will break it down!” He wasn’t in a fury, but possibly on the brinks of one. After a moment, the sound of the lock clicked and the door cracked open.

Theon Greyjoy appeared, looking absolutely terrified. He backed away, seeking the cover of his bed, when Ned and Cat entered.

“Where’s the knife, Theon?”

“I can’t tell you.” Theon replied.

“Dammit! Where’s the knife!?!”

“I can’t!” Theon had tears welling up in his eyes. “Or I’m going to be killed.”

“Theon, you killed the man who murdered my son and saved my family, why on earth would I kill for taking the knife?”

“Because… It’s my uncle Euron’s.” Ned nearly froze when he heard that. Theon crawled under his bed and came back up with the knife, still stained red with Jon’s blood. “I mean, it used to be. He gave it to someone before he was exiled.”

“Gave? Ironborn don’t give things, they only take. Are lying to me?”

“I promise I’m not! I was playing hide and seek with Maron and Yara and I saw him giving to a rich man.”

Hearing that meant that maybe the attack was from the Ironborn at all, maybe it was someone else.

“This rich man, do you remember what he looked like?”

“He had short black hair, he dressed like a southerner. I saw his face but I can’t describe it.”

“Do you know how old he looked?”

“He looked your age, but that was because he had a beard. My brother Rodrik showed me that he looked a lot older with his beard but younger when he shaved it. That’s all I know.”

“But did he say anything? Anything that sounded unusual or stood out?”

Theon shook his head as he picked up the dagger and handed it to Ned for closer inspection. Ned didn’t touch it though, he didn’t even reach out to pick it up. How could he touch the weapon killed his nephew?

“Valyrian Steel,” Ned mutter, “gold, rubies, and dragonbone handle, this is far too valuable to have been given. And there is absolutely no chance that the assassin owned it. Such a thing is too precious to risk losing.”

If it was no longer Euron Greyjoy’s and not the assassin’s then it must be the one who acquired it from Euron. But now the question was who was he?


	7. Chapter 7

Eddard

 

The next few days in Winterfell were quiet ones. Many of the ravens returned with letters of condolences or notices of Lords that would be traveling to Winterfell to pay their respects. Some were even able to ride to the castle in that time. Medgar Cerwyn, Gregor Forrester, Helman Tallhart, Ryon Dormund, and Alfred Welric had all arrived within two days of the ravens being sent. Their companies were small and would only be staying a few days after the burial. Housing them and the other lords that were coming wouldn’t be a burden since there would be no great feast or celebration. House Bolton was the only House that replied with apologies. Roose Bolton was away on business in the south but his son, Domeric, would be representing him.

Robert had already taken his leave days ago. By now he would getting close to White Harbor. He had many offers for Ned before he left, anything that might help him forget about all of this. But nothing Robert suggested would ever come close. The only thing that had any real value to anyone north of the Neck were men for the Watch. Robert offered a thousand men, but it wasn’t Ned’s place to accept.

Almost everyone around tried to give Eddard something to help ease his loss. But the only thing he wanted was taken and couldn’t come back.

He was in his room, going through the many replies that arrived that morning, when one of his men entered. “Milord Stark, riders from House Reed are nearing the gates.”

Howland. Eddard had completely forgotten about Howland coming. Did he ever receive word of the attack and about Jon? “I’ll be out shortly.” Before Ned got out of his seat, he noticed one of the ravenscrolls was sealed with a sigil of three swords forming a triangle.  _ ‘How could he have learned of this so fast?’ _ He picked up the scroll, breaking the seal and unraveled it.

_ Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North _

_ -I never should have trusted you- _

_ Ser Dillion Silversight _

It pained Eddard to read those words that bore the truth. But he couldn’t help but deny that Jon might have been worse off if he had remained unknown to the world with Dillion. He made a promise to Lyanna to keep Jon safe, but clearly he was wrong to think he could. His growing anger made him crumple the parchment in his hand. He had to face Howland now.

Before Eddard left his room, he tossed the scroll into the fire in his hearth. He made sure it burned into nothing before he set foot into the hallway.

When Eddard was in the courtyard, Howland and his men were already dismounted of their horses. It had been five years since last he saw Howland. He grew a thick bear that went from ear to ear, short and brown. His clothes has small flecks of moss and stains of green of the swamp.

When Howland’s gaze found Eddard, he turned somber and glum. He knew. “Lord Stark.”

“Lord Reed.” There was an awkward pause between them. “We should speak privately.”

“Aye, that would be best.” Howland followed Ned to the one place no one would look to bother them. But halfway to the sept, Eddard froze in his steps. “Ned?”

“I should have listened to you. I should have listened to... Dillion. Dammit, why didn’t I listen?”  Anger swelled up within him. That day at the tower everyone had pleaded with Eddard to keep Jon’s existence hidden from the world. Send him to live in the Reach, keep him in Dorne, send him to Greywater, but Ned brought him to Winterfell.

“You didn’t listen because Lyanna asked you to protect him, not me or the others. We had no right to ignore her dying wish. Things might have been different, but it doesn’t matter now. We can’t change the past, only act on what we learned from it.”

Always the one for words. Eddard pressed on to the sept, pondering what Howland said.

Catelyn was kneeling before the statue of the mother in prayer. But when she heard Eddard and Howland walk in, she abruptly finished early. “My lord, who is this?” she asked.

“Catelyn, this is Howland Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch and the crannogmen.”

“Lord Reed,” Catelyn curtsied to Howland upon learning his identity, “I apologize for not recognizing you. We met at Riverrun all those years ago, but I do not recall what you looked like.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. I was clean shaven in those days.”

“Howland,” Eddard began, “I told her about Jon.”

Howland was shocked but did well not to show it. “You told her?”

“Aye.”

“Ned,” Catelyn said, “do you mean to tell me that Howland knew as well?” Eddard didn’t answer so that she could try and figure it out. “He was with you, of course he knew. Is there anyone else?”

“Aye,” Ned told her, “the handmaid who helped Lyanna with the birth and a knight. I don’t know what happened to Wylla, but I received a raven from Dillion today. I know that neither of them would break their promise.”

“Benjen doesn’t know? You own brother?”

“He was too young at the time and now… I’m not sure if he should.” The more who knew the greater chance someone who shouldn’t would learn. And by law Eddard had been committing treason against the crown for harboring an enemy of the realm. And Robert’s personal hatred to the Targaryens would only make things worse. “I will tell him, but when the time is right.”

“When will that time be?” Howland asked.

“I don’t know. But maybe it’s better he doesn’t. No one else should. At least for now.” Ned excused himself from Catelyn and Howland. He needed to gather his thoughts. He trusted Benjen with his life, but secrets were things that spill just as much a wine. One drop could leave a stain that never washes.

While returning indoors, Ser Rodrik had found him. “My lord, Robb is in the room and refuses to leave.”

“The room?” It only took a moment for Ned to realise which one. “Nevermind, I’ll go see to him personally.”

It didn’t take long to reach the door to the room. When Ned entered, he saw no one there until he turned his head and found Robb sitting in the corner of the room, gazing over at the bed. The sheets were pulled over to cover Jon’s body and hide the pale skin.

“Robb, what are you doing in here?”

Robb sniffed before answering. “I thought that maybe if I waited or if prayed to Gods hard enough, Jon might wake up. He could come back to us and keep being my brother.”

Ned walked over and slid down next to his son. “When did he ever stop being your brother?”

“Never, I just meant…” Robb’s jaw started to shake and his eyes welled with tears. “He’s right there, but I miss him so much.”

Ned pulled Robb and his arms and let Robb cry heavily into his shoulder. With his heart breaking, he said, “I do too, believe me I do.”

* * *

 

The night was as quiet as it was calm. The moon was swallowed by thick grey clouds before the twilight hour came and a light snow flurry began. A gentle breeze carried every snowflake to glide rather than fall and the air was cold, yet a certain warmth was present at the same time.

Lanterns were lit all around Winterfell to radiate a contained light that illuminated the godswood and those gathered. As well as those who lived in Winterfell, many of the other Northern Houses had presented themselves to give their respects and condolences, though it was for their lord who lost a son, not for the boy who died. Raised high among the trees were the banners of Houses Glover, Forrester, Woods, Dormund, Holt, Cerwyn, Bolton, Hornwood, Tallhart, Welric, Reed, and Manderly. They decorated enough to make the night worthy of a king.

In the sight of the weirwood lay Jon on a oak bier and under a newly made Stark banner like a blanket. His body had been cleaned and prepared in the evening for his burial. He wore a fine black leather doublet, boots, and breeches. Around his shoulders was his own personal wool cloak, the wolf pelt resting over his shoulder. His hair lay scattered under his head and his arms were across his chest, hands resting together at the center of his ribs. His eyes were cracked open, almost as if Jon was taking one last look at the world. The color of them had paled and were empty. Though the snow that fell all around melted on touch of the skin, the snow that fell on Jon’s face remained.

Septon Chayle offered to give Jon the rights of the Seven earlier, but the funeral would be a Northern one, in the sight and presence of the Old Gods. Though there were no rites or religious words in the worship of the Old Gods, Eddard had taken it upon himself to present a eulogy. He didn’t give as much care or attention to Jon as he should have, and he would damn himself if he didn’t do it now.

Catelyn stood to Eddard’s left and their children to hers. Theon Greyjoy stood at the end of the row as was his right as ward of Winterfell. Bran was in a handmaiden’s arms, asleep and calm. Arya was either sad or cold, but she held onto Sansa’s hand for comfort. Robb was the only one of his siblings red eyed from fresh tears. To Eddard’s right was Benjen who was more composed than anyone else. He had seen more than his share of death at the Wall.

Eddard stepped forward and let his voice reach out to all around, but he kept his gaze firm on Jon’s face. “We never choose when our time ends. It comes when we least want it, be it old age or after just entering the world.” Eddard's voice was on the verge of breaking. “But what matters is what we make ourselves in that time. Jon was bastard by birth, only a half brother by blood to his brothers and sisters but a true brother in life. He was kind to them all, never fighting or angering them. I just wish I could have done more for him. He was the blood of the First Men, the Kings of Winter, a Stark, and my son. And now, he will rest with his family.” He said about half of what he wanted to say but couldn’t, and only half of what he wish he didn’t say. Jon was no bastard, and Eddard couldn’t even give him that honor publically in death.

Before Jon was to be carried on his bier into the crypts to his tomb, Eddard walked up to Jon’s body a placed a hand on his head, caressing his raven hair with his thumb and laying a kiss above his brow.

Eddard let slip a tear as he backed away and watched as Jon was lift up and taken to rest with his family, both ancestors of old and recent, with his mother. Eddard and Catelyn followed behind with the children and those wishing to pay their respects after them.

Only Eddard and Howland remained in the crypts once everyone had come to light a candle after Jon’s tomb was sealed. Catelyn had made a garland of winter roses and layed it over the covering when all had taken their turn and Sansa had an embroidery of a white wolf on a grey field she made placed with them.

Eddard held one of the winter roses in his hands, observing every detail about it. “Lyanna loved flowers as much as she did riding, the winter roses especially.” Eddard spoke openly. “I thought that having a small garland of them on Jon’s tomb could act as a silent message only I would know.” Eddard place the rose he had with the rest of the others. “I never told him anything about her. He knew of his aunt but nothing of his mother. Not even that she loved him.”

Howland spoke softly to him. “He will know now, Ned. He will rest with his mother and father beyond the end of our days. His whispers will be heard with hers among the weirwoods until the world fades into dust.”

No words could soothe the pain in Eddard’s heart, and no knowledge or religion or magic would bring him comfort. “No father should have to bury their child, Howland.” Eddard fell to his knees and broke down in tears. This never should have happened, it wasn’t supposed to.

* * *

 

Ned and those in his company, Martyn Cassel, Howland Reed, Theo Wull, Ethan Glover, Mark Ryswell, and Willam Dustin, halted their horses when they finally reached the Tower of Joy. The light of the setting sun changed the color of the tower from pale to a fiery orange, like if the tower were in flames.

They all dismounted their destriers and walked on the small path leading to the entrance of the tower. Everyone put a hand to their weapons when the three knights of the Kingsguard brandished themselves into sight, their armor no longer gleaming gallantly but covered in sand and dust.

The Lord Commander Gerold Hightower and Ser Arthur Dayne approached to meet Ned and his company while Ser Oswald remained seated on a nearby rock, sharpening his massive broadsword and not giving a second glance to anyone. Ser Arthur and Ser Gerold removed their helms and held them under their arms and scanned those that approached them.

Ser Arthur drew his legendary ancestral sword from its scabbard and planted it into the ground when both parties halted. Ser Gerold kept a stern face, the only movement his body made was his white mustache getting caught in the breeze. “Lord Stark.” Ser Gerold greeted.

“I looked for you on the Trident.” Ned replied.

“We were not there.”

Ser Oswell broke his silence after a long stroke with his whetstone on the edge of the blade. “Woe to the Usurper if we had been.”

Ned eyed the three knights with a fierceness that matched a direwolf. “When King’s Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew the Mad King with a golden sword… and I wondered where you were.”

“Far away,” Ser Gerold replied, “or Aerys would yet sit on the Iron Throne and our false brother would burn in seven hells!” At this point, Ser Oswald got up to his feet, keeping his sword drawn, and the other two knights rested their hands on their weapons.

“The Mad King is dead. Rhaegar was slain at the Trident. Why weren’t you there to protect your prince?”

Ser Arthur spoke. “Our prince wanted us here. We swore a vow to obey him.”

“And now he’s dead, the last of the Targaryens have fled, a boy and a babe. Ser Willem Darry took them away.”

“Ser Willem is a good and true knight.” Ser Oswald said. “But we are Kingsguard, we do not flee. Our vows are for life. Only our deaths will release us.”

A scream erupted the air, coming from the top of the tower. Ned looked up at a black window and back to the three knights. “What has happened to my sister?” Ned’s fingers slid from the pommel of his sword to the handle.

None of the knights answered. Ser Gerold and Ser Arthur donned their helms. “I wish you good fortunes in the wars to come.” Arthur told Ned. “And now it begins.” Arthur drew Dawn from the ground at the same time he did his other sword. Ser Gerold had armed himself with a longsword.

“No. Now it ends.” Ned drew his sword from its scabbard and the other men armed themselves with their weapons.

Howland was the first to charge forward with his three pronged spear. He met his spear with Gerold’s longsword. Just as everyone else had begun to fight, Howland brought his spear up to catch Ser Gerold’s sword, but the blade of the sword cut through the shaft of the spear and sliced across Howland’s chest. Howland collapsed to the ground as his blood began to stain his clothes and armor.

Ned stepped forward with Martyn and  he met his sword with Ser Gerold’s. Theo Wull fought with Mark Ryswell against Ser Oswald while Ethan and Willam fought Ser Arthur. Ser Gerold was a veteran of war, and his skill was to reckoned with. Ned had barely saved himself with a parry, but he was forced to retreat back. In that short moment Martyn was disarmed and Ser Gerold drove his sword into Martyn’s chest. Before Martyn’s body hit the ground, Ned furiously attacked Ser Gerold.

Ser Oswald met his giant broadsword with Theo’s battle axe. Mark Ryswell used this chance to strike his sword at Ser Oswald. But Ser Oswald’s armor held true and withstood the blow. He pushed Theo back and fought against Mark. Mark’s skill favored mounted combat giving him a disadvantage. Sure enough he lost his footing and fell back. Ser Oswald drove his sword into Mark’s chest, piercing through castle forged steel armor. But in doing so, Ser Oswald’s sword had become stuck, and his neck was met with Theo’s axe.

Though the White Bull had more experience, his age was putting a toll on his body. Ned had greater speed and used it at the right moment. He ducked under a slash from Ser Gerold and when he rose up, Ned drove the tip of his sword into Ser Gerold’s neck.

Ser Gerold spat up blood and squirmed before his eyes rolled back and his body went limp. Ned drew his sword out of Ser Gerold and looked over to Ser Arthur, Theo, Ethan, and Willam. The sword of the Morning displayed far greater skill than his two brothers and easily held his own against the three Northmen. Even when Ned had joined them, Ser Arthur looked as if he was toying with them. Willam attacked too hastily and Ser Arthur broke the blade of his sword with Dawn before slicing through Willam’s neck.

Ethan charged forward, trying to take Ser Arthur off guard but his steel shield was pierced by Dawn and cut deep into his arm. The pain made Ethan tense and the end of Ser Arthur’s other sword stuck deep through Ethan’s armor and body. Ser Arthur freed his weapons and shoved Ethan’s body away from him.

Theo roared out and swung his axe down at Ser Arthur, disarming the knight of his second sword. Both he and Ned attacked together, but every time there was an opening, Ser Arthur closed it with Dawn with almost impossible speed. Theo raised his axe like an executioner, completely intending to cleave Ser Arthur in two. But his axe was never brought down. Ser Arthur dodged a strike from Ned and drove Dawn into Theo’s head.

Theo’s axe slipped from his fingers and he fell hard on the ground as Ser Arthur drew his sword out and turned back to Ned. It was just the two of them now, facing off in sand littered with blood of their allies. There was a brief pause before they engaged one other, a calm before the duel that would determine the victor.

Ned took a deep breath and took the first move. He lunged forward and was met with a parry from Ser Arthur. The two of them fought a dance of steel, their swords ringing like sept bells every time they met.

Ned finally noticed that Ser Arthur constantly left his side unprotected more than his right. He used this one and only chance he had and swung at Arthur’s left after forcing him to block heavily on his right. But what Ned didn’t expect was for Arthur to use the momentum of his back to spin around with great speed. He brought Dawn up and struck Ned’s sword out of his hand.

The two of them locked eyes for only a second before Arthur raised Dawn up to strike at Ned. But from behind, Howland grabbed onto Arthur’s sword arm and stabbed a dagger into his back. Arthur cried out as he fell to his knees and dropped Dawn, the hilt landed at Ned’s feet. Ned picked up the sword and looked at Ser Arthur once again. The Sword of the Morning was coughing up blood and looked at him strangely, He wasn’t angry, or upset, but almost like he was assuring Ned of something.

Before Ned could end Ser Arthur’s life, there was another cry from the top of the tower.

Eddard turned around and was inside the room at the top of the tower. Before him was a bed. The sheets were stained with blood and wilting winter roses were scatter both on and around the bed. Under the blood soaked sheets was Lyanna, covered in sweat and blood. Her face and eyes were red from tears.

“Lyanna.” Ned set Dawn against the foot of the bed and rushed over to his sister’s side.

“Ned?” Lyanna’s looked up to him. “Is that you?”

“Aye, it’s me Lyanna. I’m right here.” Ned took his gloves off and then took Lyanna’s hand in his. She was cold, too cold. “I’ve come for you.”

“Oh Ned, it’s too late for me.” She croaked, her voice coming to no softer than a whisper.

“No, it’s not.” Ned wouldn’t let her die after all he’d lost to get her back now, he couldn’t.

“I don’t want to die, Ned.” Tears began flowing from her eyes. “I want to be brave.”

“You’re not going to die!”

Breaking through Ned’s growing worry, a baby began to cry out. Ned turned his gaze to a servant girl with a babe in her arms, a red newborn bundled in a soft white blanket.

“Listen to me Ned…” Lyanna squeezed his hand and pulled him in closer. “His name…” she whispered, “it doesn’t matter anymore now, does it?”

Ned became suddenly confused. “Lyanna?”

“You didn’t protect him.” Her tears began to turn into tears of blood and her grip tightened greatly. “He was just a child and you let him die!”

“No, Lyanna! I didn’t mean to let it happen!”

“You promised me, Ned! You promised me!” Lyanna’s screams shook the foundations of the tower.

Ned freed his hands from Lyanna’s grip and backed away, afraid of her and ashamed. He backed into something hard, but it wasn’t the wall. He turned around and saw all who fought and died outside standing before him, there wounds remained and armor stained in their blood.

Ned turned his gaze to the servant girl. But she was replaced by the assassin that came in the night. He had the valyrian dagger with him, the blood still stained with Jon’s blood. At his feet was Jon, bleeding on the floor from the stabs in his chest.

“You promised me!” Lyanna screamed. “You promised me!”

“Lyanna!” Ned shouted.

* * *

 

Catelyn

 

The weight of sleep would not find Catelyn this night. She lay alone in her bed, tossing and turning but never finding ease. Ever since she spoke with Ned in the godswood, she took to separate chambers. She missed him being next to her, but she did not deserve to be with him now. She was at war with herself inside. The guilt of her prayer still weighed heavy on her. She saw it as a betrayal to not only her husband, but her family. Family, Duty, Honor, those were the words of her father’s House and she had failed them all.

Regardless of the truth, Jon was a son to Ned. Bastard or no he was a son and one who never knew his mother or a mother’s love. Even though not a blood in his veins was Tully, he was a Stark more than she. As mother, she had a duty to love her children, but for Jon all she had was hate. Her prayer to the gods, she may as well have wielded the knife that killed him. To pray for a child’s death for the sins of the father, what honor did she have left after that?

Catelyn was in mourning for the boy and regretted for her actions, but she was also angry at Ned. If only he told her the truth years ago, if only she knew. But that wouldn’t have been enough. Howland had told her so yesterday when they were alone after meeting.

_ They were in the Sept, no one else would be around until midday so they had no worry about being disturbed. _

_ “Have you spoken much with him?” Howland asked her. _

_ “He hardly speaks to anyone now. He’s becoming the Quiet Wolf all over again. I just don’t understand why he never told me.” _

_ “How could he have? He met you the day you both wed and was gone by morning. He didn’t know you and hardly knew your family. He didn’t know if would betray the boy’s true name to the crown or be loyal to the family you were now a part of. Your house words are what kept him from saying anything. Would you have remained loyal to your family or him? Would you have done your duty to the crown or him? Would you have stayed quiet to save the life of a ‘dragonspawn’?” _

_ Howland was right about that. The Rebellion had created such an anger towards the Targaryens, Jon would been next to his half brother and sister if the world knew of him. And Catelyn always had pride in her children. She would have panicked that her children were in danger being near a Targaryen. And not only that, but would she have truly treated him better or would she have seen him as dragonspawn like the king rather than a bastard? _

_ “Years ago I offered to take Jon as my ward at Greywater Watch. The crannogmen are known to be… isolated from the rest of the country. But Ned refused, his promise bound him to watching over Jon. And even though he rarely showed it from what I’ve been told,  he had love for the boy. He was the living memory of Lyanna.” _

Lyanna. Everything Ned had done was to protect Jon  for Lyanna. Her hatred of him only helped cloak his true identity.

Catelyn’s thoughts were broken when a shriek that could wake the dead howled throughout the castle. She recognized the voice as Ned’s and hearing it made her terrified. Was he being attacked? Was there another assassin sent out?

She rushed out of her bed and into the darkness of the halls and saw the light of a torch at Ned’s door. In the light was Ser Rodrik and Jory Cassel, wearing their night clothes and with their swords in hand. Four other of the castle guard had caught up with them in full armor and carrying torches.

“What happened? Is Ned alright?” Catelyn asked. “It sounded like he was attacked.”

“He might as well have been,” Rodrik replied, “I’ve never known a night terror make a man sound like that.”

A night terror? Mother have mercy on any man who would be pained so much in their dreams.

“I’ll see to him.” Catelyn informed. “The rest of you return to your posts.”

“Should we stand guard at the door, milady?” Jory asked.

“No, that won’t be needed.” Catelyn told them.

“As you wish, Lady Stark.” The men left together when Catelyn opened the door again, this time slowly. She crept in and softly closed the door behind her. She saw Ned on the side of the bed on the ground, sitting against a nightstand.

“I told you to leave,” he said through his teeth. He looked up and saw that it was Catelyn standing before him. “Shouldn’t you be on your way to Riverrrun?” He was acting like he was drunk on wine.

“I’ve decided to stay.” Her place was here now more than ever. Her children needed her here. She couldn’t just leave them with Ned as he was.

“Wherever you decide to be, may it be out of my presence. Now leave me.” If he was angry at her or himself, she could not tell. It was plainly obvious, at least. that the guilt of his failure and breaking his promise was all that stirred in him, and Catelyn had grown worried and tired of it.  She had to do something to bring him out of his grief and anger, but she was not sure this was the right idea. Still she went ahead with it anyway.

“I will not leave my husband to grieve for his sister’s mistakes.” She straightened her body when Ned shot her a bloodlust look.

“You dare blame my sister for-”

“I do dare. She was the one who ran off with Rhaegar of her own will. Because of her, the two of them started a war an nearly destroyed one of the greatest Houses in the country.” Howland told her everything that really happened. The days after the tourney of Harrenhal, the annulment, all but what happened at the Tower of Joy. That day was not his to share.

“Howland… damn him.”

“If it weren’t for her, you wouldn’t have brought her son here and pretend to be a father to him!”

“Pretend?” Ned got to his feet and stood over her like he was the Mountain. “I loved him more than Rhaegar ever could have.”

Catelyn stood up to Ned, looking at him dead in the eye. “Then why did you let him suffer so many years of my hatred?” Ned’s anger disappeared and he faltered back a step. “You let me slander and ridicule him for something he never was. You let him suffer all those years, never giving him a second glance. Why didn’t you tell me at the beginning?”

“I had no choice. What kind of woman welcomes her husband’s bastard with open arms?”

“I would have if you just told me. I would have done everything I could to be the mother he never had if I knew!” She fell back on the bed. “I held him in my arms that night. He begged me for his mother before he died.”

Ned knelt before her, his chest heaving.  “It was wrong for me to mislead you. I wanted to tell you, so many times.  But it, your contempt, even your hatred, sold the lie. If I had told you, you could not have been the way you were to him.  I feared you would slip and someone would notice.” He was in tears now, weeping as he said, “And it would have been only one slip that could have put all our lives in danger.”

In her heart, she knew there was truth in those words.  However, she answered, “I could have held to that secret.  I would have made certain of it, to protect all of us.”

Ned gave her a sad smile. “No, you would not have been able to. You love your children with the fierceness of a she-wolf. Had you known the truth about Jon, you would have shown him the same love you have for Robb or Sansa or Arya or Bran.” 

Catelyn lifted his chin up.  A moment passed and the she pulled him to her. Her lips met his and felt nothing but a cold touch. His entire body was cold, cold as ice. He wouldn’t say but he needed her now more than ever. Ned wrapped his arms around her and held her close. He found his strength again and pulled her to their bed.

Catelyn removed his night clothes as he did the same to her shift.  The fabric fell away to the floor. It sent a shiver down her spine but when his lips touched her skin, there was a flare of warmth, something she had never felt in all their times since their first night together. She knew from his gentle touches he was feeling it too, so she put as much of herself in their joining as she could. And as her body reacted to Ned, so too did his body to her.  Her warmth was bringing Ned out of his cold misery. It wasn’t lust or passion that drove her, but love. Theirs was a slow dance of bodies, punctuated by soft kisses he rained down on her skin. She exalted in his touches, in the way his hands molded to her body, in even the tears that fell from his eyes and onto her. She realized she loved him more than she ever had and every part of her hoped that he would feel it, that it would ease his sorrow.

Tonight felt different than other other night they had spent together. There was a gentleness they had never had before. It felt like the first time they met, the first time they made love, man and maiden. Tonight was a chance to begin anew. Tonight was the night that they would be husband and wife to each other, not a lord and lady. Tonight was promise, a promise that things would be different now.

  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Drunk

 

Pain, that was the only thing he felt when he awoke from his sleep. His head rung like a bell of the Great Sept and only after he realised he was sober did he almost cry out. He felt his brain stabbing from the inside of his skull and his ears were pulsing to the beat of his heart.

As the pain began to die down, though very little as it did, Thoros began to realize he was somewhere he did not know. It was dark and a little cold and damp. He sat up and felt his wineskin slip off his body. To his right he could see a dim light in the distance, shaping the location into a hallway. He groaned out as he got to his feet and picked up his wineskin from the ground. To his displeasure, the skin was empty.

Thoros began to make his way to the light and out of the darkness. It was only when he got there did he realize where he was and how much shit he was in. The light came from a great many candles, all of them halfway burned, surrounding a stone tomb. The tomb itself was deep into the hole made for it, leaving space for a stone mason to make a statue for the Stark inside. Carved on the stone lid of the tomb was the name Jon Stark.

In his drunken stupor, Thoros had fallen asleep in the crypts of Winterfell and on the night of the boy’s funeral. He missed his chance to join the King to return to the capitol. Hopefully the horse he bought was untouched and ready for him to ride without a moment's notice. He just had to make sure that he left crypts unseen, or his might as well have shit in the heart tree in the godswood while Ned Stark polished his greatsword.

Sighing out, Thoros began to leave the crypts, but after only a couple of steps, he looked back at the stone tomb. Looking at it and the candle light made him remind himself of what he was, a drunken priest without a damn thing to give. He disrespected the House of the man who invited him, and the son who died taking a knife for the king.

Thoros returned to the tomb and placed his hand on the cold stone, the surface as smooth as a woman’s skin almost. “Lord of Light,” he spoke, “hear my words that you will. Guide this child into your light, into your embrace. He has suffered enough in this life, let him suffer no more in death. For the night is dark and full of terrors.”

He took his hand off the tomb and kept his gaze on the name of the boy who rested inside. “I’m sorry you met such a fate, little one. Be free of this world’s torment.” Thoros turned to leave, but the flames of the candles flickered and grew abnormally large, no bigger than his index finger but still large. The cold of the crypts disappeared and suddenly became warm as if it were a summer’s day.

All of the sudden, Thoros heard something, a rumble or pounding noise. It sounded distant, but it felt close. Then the tiniest of scrapes made Thoros shiver in this strange heat. He eyed the tomb and looked at it like it was something he had never seen before. Reaching his hand out slowly, Thoros went to touch the tomb again. The moment his fingers touched the stone, he felt a small vibration resonate from the tips to his entire body. The vibration was coming from inside.

Thros became terrified. He didn’t know if he was going mad or dreaming. Regardless of which of the two it was, Thoros placed both hands on the sides of the covering and pushed with all his strength.

The moment a gap of shadow appeared, two small pale hands reached out of the tomb at Thoros. He pushed harder and once the gap was big enough, Jon Snow shot up from the tomb, coughing heavily and absolutely terrified.

Thoros lost all his breath. He was amazed and unbelieving of what he was witnessing. What kind of devilry was this? Magic? A trick? No, it had to be a dream. He had too much wine and this was just a sick dream. But no matter how much Thoros doubted things, he knew that this was real. In every inch of his soul he knew.

Jon Snow tried to climb out of the tomb, but almost fell out had Thoros not caught him. “Easy! Easy. take it easy young one.” Jon Snow fell to his hands and tried to vomit, but he had nothing inside of him to cough up so it was just empty gags. Once his breathing slowed down, the boy lost all his strength and collapsed. Thoros took him in his arms and checked to see if he was alright. The boy was breathing and his eyes were shut. He had just fallen asleep, but he was alive. A boy who took a knife in the chest and the heart and had been dead for over half a fortnight was alive.

Thoros was unsure of how he was supposed to react, or what he was even supposed to do. He began to wonder if he did this with his prayer. He wasn’t trying to bring him back to life, just give him a bit of peace in death. He had to take the boy to his father. He had to show him to everyone.

Before Thoros could get up, one of the candle flames turned into a crimson red, like blood. He looked at the flame, but something about it drew his gaze beyond the fire. He could see images, a vision. He saw the boy, Jon Snow, and a direwolf beside him. A lion and a stag then appeared together as if allies and both attacked the wolf. Jon Snow tried to run but great thorned roses erupted from the grown and bound his legs so he could not flee. The stag stabbed the direwolf with an antler before the tentacles of a kraken emerged and grabbed a hold of its body. The kraken tightly gripped the direwolf before tearing the beast in two. Jon Snow tried to crawl free of the vines, but a red sun began to shine and a golden spear was thrusted down into Jon Snow’s arm. The gold of the spear began to melt, covering the boy’s arm and continuing to his body, almost like it was infecting him. The lion and the stag both approached the boy viciously, but a lone trout had emerged from a river and attacked the two beasts. But on it’s second jump, a falcon and a mockingjay flew down from the sky and grabbed the trout in their talons, bleeding the fish and killing it. With nothing left to protect the boy, the animals tore into his body and ripped him apart.

The crimson of the candlelight faded and the flame returned to its normal color. Thoros breathed silently, in shock of what he just witnessed. All the sigils of the great houses were at war over this boy, a bastard. There was something important about this bastard, so great that the country would go into a bloody chaos over him.

“He can’t stay here.” Thoros whispered. “And they can’t know he’s alive. But what do I do?” The candle had changed colors again, as if answering the question. Instead of red, the flame turned silver, almost pure white. Beyond the flame Thoros could see the world’s horizon and the rising sun. He saw the light spill over a great body of water. An ocean, no, a sea. It was the Narrow Sea. “East… Essos.” He removed his large red coat and wrapped it around Jon Snow, concealing his body. Before he could leave, Thoros had to make it seem like he was never here. He returned to the tomb and began to close the lid.

Hoisting the boy over his shoulder, Thoros left the crypts, both afraid of what he saw and what he was doing. As if the magic of this night was not yet over, absolutely no one was in sight to see Thoros when he came outside. The guards were not at their posts, or more likely it was the middle of a shift change. And to add to the luck of the night, the gates were left open.

Thoros went to the stables and found his horse, awake and waiting for him. He slung Jon Snow over the horse before mounting and riding out of Winterfell into the dead of snowing night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think I would give you that last part so willingly did you?
> 
> SHOW
> 
> ME 
> 
> THE
> 
> MONEY!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we begin, I need to give credit where it's due. MSquared79 has been fantastic help and last chapter and this one wouldn't have been half as good without her. Be sure to give some love to her too

Robb

 

The morning came swiftly with a clear sunrise. Winterfell seemed to be more lively now that the funeral was over. Robb was still sad when he woke up, though he didn't feel as much as he was these past few days. But he still missed his brother.

He dressed himself and made for the Great Hall to break his fast with the rest of his family. Oddly though, mother and father were not there at the table, only Sansa, Arya, and Theon.

The food was what remained of last week's hunt, pork sausage with bread and honey. While everyone at the high table was quiet, the lords and other guests seated below were talking quietly among themselves. It was easy to hear them, but their voices mixed and words jumbled making it hard to listen to one person.

Robb would occasionally hear bits and pieces of conversation. Nothing seemed to interest him though. It was just talk of plans for the new summer, fathers thinking of husbands for their daughters or wives for their sons. Lord Alfred Welric was talking with Lord Ryon Dormund about marrying his daughter to him. Lord Ryon's father died in Robert's Rebellion at the Trident and his older brother, Eric, died fighting the Greyjoys. He was only fifteen and already a lord and was being offered a girl two years older than him for a wife.

But other times it was matters within a lord's own household. Lord Gregor Forrester was telling Lord Brian Woods about a great fight he had with his second born son before he departed Ironrath for the funeral. He caught the boy with the daughter of House Whitehill and the rivalry between the two houses was not a quiet thing. Lord Gregor had decided that his son would go take the black for his dishonor to his house to stop any further issues between the two.

Regardless of what the conversations were, Robb cared for none of it.

"Robb," Sansa said sitting next to him, "the jam please."

Robb lazily handed the jar of strawberry jam to Sansa. She was only eating a single slice of bread, but it was more than he was. He didn't even touch his food, he wasn't hungry. He felt like he would get sick if he ate.

Finally, Father and Mother arrived together. They took their seats and kept silent until their food was brought to them. Father was halfwalfway through his bread before finally noticing his children.

"You've hardly touched your food, Robb."

"I'm not hungry, Father."

"It's not wise to skip meals at your age." Eddard pushed his plate aside and faced Robb. "I know you're hurting son. We all are. It's a pain that someone your age shouldn't have to endure."

Father was probably already feeling better. He never was Jon's brother after all. And Jon was the only person in the castle his age he could play with. Without Jon, he felt he was alone in the castle now.

Father sighed and looked out to the people. "Robb, why haven't you introduce yourself to Lord Bolton's son?"

"Because I don't want to."

"Then what do you want right now?"

' _I want my brother back.'_  Robb scoffed, but got out of his seat. He didn't want to listen to his father anymore. He didn't understand how he felt. He knew his father had lost his siblings, but Uncle Brandon's temper led to him and Grandfather being killed by the Mad King and Aunt Lyanna was father's sister. It wasn't the same.

Robb had suddenly went from angry to afraid when the Bolton men looked over at him as he approached. They looked mean and hateful and almost like they were itching for a fight.

In the middle of them all was a boy, black of hair and pale eyes that made one shiver at the look of him. The stare he gave made Robb feel cold.

Robb straightened himself and tried to stand tall. "Are you the son of Lord Bolton?"

"Aye." The boy replied. "My name's Domeric."

"Robb Stark." he introduced.

"I know who are. Who else would be sitting with Ned Stark for breakfast?" Some of the Bolton men chuckled at that. "Did you want something?"

' _To go back to my room.'_  "Would you like a tour around the castle?"

Domeric just shrugged at him. "Why not? Beats being with my guard." Domeric slipped out of his seat and retrieved his cloak from one of his men.

Before they left, Robb turned back to the High Table. "Greyjoy!" he called out. "Come with us." Theon was hesitant, but he grabbed the rest of his sausage and rushed down to join them. "This is Domeric Bolton," Robb told Theon, "and this Theon Greyjoy, my father's ward." Robb was told to never refer to Theon as his father's hostage like some of the men would.

Robb, Theon, and Domeric left the Great Hall together to go outside for awhile. They all stood on the balcony bordering the training yard and watched Ser Rodrik train with Jory and twelve others. They all wielded training swords that were extra heavy so that they could build more muscle and swing faster with live steel.

"Lord Stark said he wants me to squire for Ser Rodrik when I turn ten," Theon said, "Says he thinks I might make a good one." He wasn't saying this to boast, just talk. Robb once thought about becoming a knight, but there wasn't much of point since he's the firstborn. He was learning how to be lord and wouldn't have time to do what knights did.

"My mother convinced my father to let me serve as a page for my Aunt Barbery next year. I've never been to the Barrowlands before but I'm excited to see Barrowton." Said Domeric.

The only things Robb knew about the barrowlands where the stories he and Jon were told before bed. "Old Nan once told me that there are crypts as big as Winterfell's in the Barrowlands, stretching for miles. Some of them belonged to Kings and Lords of old and others belonged to the soldiers of the dead and-"

"The dead?" Theon inquired, "What you mean by that?"

"He means the Long Night." Domeric told Theon. "Haven't you heard the legends about the White Walkers and their army of soldiers made from the very men that they killed?"

"I know it, just not all of it. My brother Rodrik told me that they were made of ice and took babes from their mothers' breast in the night without leaving a trace to track."

"Did he also tell you about the spiders?" Robb asked.

"Spiders? What spiders?"

"The White Walkers would ride ice spiders as big as horses for their mounts. The only one who didn't was the leader, the King of the Dead." A sudden cold breeze blew by forcing the boys to pull their cloaks around them for warmth. "The legends said that he rode the winds of winter and brought the greatest cold the world ever saw."

"Enough Stark," Theon said, "they're just stories told by the old people. Maybe it happened, maybe it didn't. I'll believe it when I see it."

Theon was right. All the legends of old these days were just stories told to frighten children. Old Nan admitted she tells them so they are not forgotten.

Robb wondered how many things in history were forgotten because they weren't told. Would Jon be forgotten if he just remained a name on a cold tomb?

"Hey," Domeric said, "what do you think they're doing?" he pointed down at a group of the crannogmen from the swamps walking together through the courtyard. They all seemed to ignore everything around them and had a certain presence that drew attention to them.

"Let's go follow 'em." Theon suggested. He didn't even wait for Robb or Domeric to say yes and was already dashing for the stairs.

Robb looked back at Domeric who just shrugged his shoulders and followed after Theon. They caught up with him and trailed the men. They continued to be curious about them as the men entered the godswood. Robb knew Father would usually go there after he's executed someone. He wondered why these men were going there.

The boys crept into the godswood as quiet as they could. They all saw the men of crannogmen sitting in sight of the heart tree's face. But there was something that frightened Robb about the men. Their eyes were all open, but the color of them was gone. There was nothing but white, like an abyss of cloud. They were as still as stone, ignoring everything around them.

"What's wrong them?" Theon asked.

"I'm not sure." said Robb. He'd never seen eyes like that before.

A small red bird flew past their heads and landed on a nearby branch. It looked directly at them before flying down to the shoulder of one of them men. As soon as it landed, the man gasped for air and his eyes returned to normal. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small handful of seeds, letting the red bird feed from his hand. A ray of sunlight gleamed on the bird and its feathers reflected like fire.

"It's rude to watch from the shadows, you know," the man called out to them still giving his attention to his feathered friend.

Robb, Domerric, and Theon all looked at each other, shocked that the man knew they were there. They all revealed themselves to the man and slowly approached him.

The man didn't look angry with them for spying. In fact he looked amused. "I don't believe we've met formally, Robb Stark. My name is Howland Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch."

Robb's mouth dropped in shock. He had never met him, but he knew of him. "You fought with my father against Ser Arthur Dayne."

Lord Reed had an odd look to it when he answered. "Aye, he and I were the only ones who lived. But it was your father that was the one who dealt the finishing blow." The red bird in Howland's hand began to chirp for more seeds. "You've had enough for breakfast," he told the bird, "anymore and you'll get fat." The bird flew off his shoulder into the trees.

"Never seen a bird like that." Domeric said. "What kind is it?"

"It's a Fire Cardinal. They're a rare species found only in the swamplands."

"Forget the bird," Theon said, "what's wrong with all of them?" He gestured to the rest of the crannogmen who were still white eyed.

"Don't mind them," Lord Reed told them, "they're somewhere else right now. Have you ever heard of skinchangers?"

Robb had. Old Nan told him and Jon stories about them, about men who could enter the minds of animals and sometimes even turn into them themselves.

"My brothers told me about them," Theon said, "Malon said that he met some wildlings who were skin changers. They set their animals on his crew when they were exploring up north. They're nothing but freaks."

"The gift may seem freakish to those who have little or no understanding of it. It is a terrifying thing to them to. We enter the minds of the animals and feel what they feel, sometimes forgetting who we are. But the wonders we receive are like nothing you've ever imagined. Have you wondered what it would be like to hunt as wolf in the thickest of forests? To fly as an eagle among the highest clouds or swim as a shark in the deepest of oceans?"

Robb couldn't begin to imagine how incredible it would be. "Well, that doesn't sound so bad," he replied, imagining himself as a grey direwolf.

"No," Howland told him, "but people fear and cast out what they do not understand. Such is how we are. But in the swamps, we welcome and nurture those with the gift."

"Gift?" Domeric asked. "Who gave it to you?"

"The Children of the Forest did, long ago when the Long Night was won by our ancestors. They taught us to hunt and live with our animals like never before, to remember our pasts and those of our fathers before us, and to even see what the future holds for our children. But such magics of the Old Gods have been fading ever since the Andals came. Skinchangers, wargs, greenseers, they are all becoming a scarce thing. Like the legends of old, we will soon be nothing but stories."

* * *

 

Eddard

 

Despite their reasons for being here, Eddard had decided to take advantage of this opportunity to meet with many of his lords. He gathered all of them together, along with Benjen in the Great Hall, seated at one large table.

"My lords," Eddard spoke up, gaining their attention, "today I would ask that we discuss the condition of the Wall and the men of the Night's Watch. My brother Benjen has brought word that there is something troubling happening beyond the Wall. Though I hold no love for the wildlings as much as the rest of you, there have been reports that villages have been mysteriously abandoned and not a trace of the people could be found or tracked."

"Maybe there's a dispute going on." said Lord Tallhart. "You can't get fifty of them together without a brawl breaking out."

"Not unless they're Thenns." Lord Welric said. "My uncle met a hundred of them on his final range. Maybe the Wildlings are starting to realize strength in numbers."

"Lord Alfred could be right." Medgar Ceryn agreed. "The lands beyond are just as large as Westeros for all we know. There could be millions of wildlings. How soon do you think it will take enough of them to gather and attack the garrisons at the Wall?"

"The Wall has stood for thousands of years and has repelled half a dozen Wildling Kings." Lord Wyman Manderly said dismissively. "It will continue to stand for just as many years and no army, no matter the number, is strong enough to bring down the Wall."

"Bring down, no." Eddard said, "but overwhelm? Maybe. I've had more reports of wildings south of the Wall these past few months than I've had in the last two years. They're getting bolder and harder to keep out. The Wall needs more men. I've already sent a raven to the lords not present with us and Lord Umber has sent what he can. But we owe the Umbers our share. They have been our first line of defense for as long as they've lived at the Last Hearth. It is their blood that is spilled and their people that die. My brother leaves on the morrow, and he will be returning with thirty of my men."

The other lords looked at each other, unsure whether or not to spare any of their own soldiers.

"House Welric has no soldiers to spare, Lord Stark" Alfred said, "but we found and arrested a group of poachers. We were going to send them to the Wolf's Den, but maybe they would be better as hunters for the Watch."

"I'll send word to my brother to gather any men in our dungeons as well as some volunteers." Lord Glover announced.

Their action made the other lords finally offer what they could. As of now, Benjen would have a guarantee of at least a hundred men and more on the way.

The rest of the time was spent discussing the plans for the coming spring. Each House was able to tell their concerns and each matter was resolved. By evening, their business was concluded and each had retired to their own activities.

This was the time Catelyn would normally be with Septa Mordane and the other young girls for their embroidery lessons right now. But when he went to the sept, he did not find her or Sansa there.

"My lord," Mordane greeted, "is there something I can do for you?"

"I'm looking for my wife, have you seen Lady Catelyn?"

"She hasn't been here at all today, my lord."

Little Jeyne Poole spoke up. "I think she's with Sansa in the godswood."

The godswood? Catelyn would very rarely go there and tried to keep Sansa in the sept instead. "Thank you, Jeyne."

The whole walk to the godswood, Eddard kept trying to understand why they would be there. Catelyn never felt comfortable in the presence of the weirwood and the first time Sansa saw the face dripping with the red sap she was afraid of it.

Eddard became absolutely surprised when he saw Sansa kneeling before the weirwood in prayer, but even more so that Catelyn kneeling beside her in silence. He waited patiently for them to finish and felt a spark of pride flicker in him seeing his daughter before the presence of the Old Gods.

Sansa said her last words and noticed Eddard when she stood up with Catelyn. "Father!" She rushed over to his side.

He caught her in an embrace. "Hello Sansa. I've never seen you pray to the weirwood before. I thought you were scared of them."

"I still am a little, but mother said that Jon could hear me if I prayed before them, so I wanted to try."

Eddard was shocked and looked over to Catelyn. She was such a devout follower to the Seven and wanted Sansa to be as well that such talk was unexpected.

Catelyn smiled at Eddard comfortingly. "Her gods are the gods of her mother  _and_  her father. She should learn to respect and be faithful to both."

Eddard was surprised about Catelyn's flexibility to this. Devotion to two religions was a very rare thing in a mixed marriage such as theirs. And for Catelyn it just didn't make sense. He smiled down at Sansa. "I'm very proud of you, Sansa. Why don't you go to the kitchens and get yourself a sweet? I think there are lemon cakes cooling."

She beamed up at him. "Thank you, Father!" She gave him another fast hug before rushing off.

Once Sansa was out of hearing range, Eddard turned back to Catelyn. "What brought you to have her do this?"

"I've had some conversations with Lord Reed these past few days. He has provided much wisdom for me and ways that I might help. And he also told me about many of your beliefs I never knew, including the whispers the weirwoods say. I think Sansa, and Arya should know these as much as her brothers do." Catelyn took Eddard's hand. " _All_  of her brothers."

Eddard felt calm when he heard her say that. Even though she knew the truth, even though she never said it until now, he was glad that Catelyn would call Jon a brother of their children now. "Thank you, Cat."

For the first time, Eddard felt Catelyn was welcomed in the godswood.

* * *

Eddard felt a little abandoned later in the evening when his only company for supper was Arya and Catelyn. Sansa had gone to eat with her friends and Robb joined Theon and ate with Domeric. For the first time since that fateful night, Eddard got to see his children smiling again.

But the moment was short lived because Domeric had left and returned with a harp. Apparently, he was a Bolton who preferred the art of music instead of the art of battle. He pulled a chair to a corner and sat himself down. Others noticed him preparing and quieted down.

Domeric was only eight, and yet he played such a simple song that had a very serene feel to it. He played with focus, and yet Domeric kept his eyes closed the entire time, as if absorbing himself in the tune.

By the time he was done, Robb and Theon applauded for him along with the some of the Winterfell household, but Ned could see tears in Sansa's eyes starting to well up.

Eddard got up from his seat and went to tend to her. "Sansa, what's the matter?" He got to his knees so that she could look at him normally. "Do you have a stomach ache? Did someone say something mean to you?"

"Are you alright?" Eddard felt a cold shiver rush down his spine when he heard Domeric speak directly behind him. He never heard a single noise or felt anything that signaled his presence. "Apologies, my Lord, but I saw Lady Sansa and got concerned."

"I am alright," Sansa told both of them Then she turned her attention to Domeric. "Your song was so pretty, I could not help it."

Yet, as they spoke, Eddard felt a weight in him when she said that. It years ago that he was in this position with Lyanna as she became emotional after hearing Rhaegar Targaryen play his harp at the feast of Harrenhal.

"I'm sorry," Domeric told her, "the song was one my mother taught me. I didn't mean to make you cry."

"It's alright. It didn't make me sad, it made me feel happy, if that makes sense." She wiped her tears away. "I'm Sansa Stark."

Domeric smiled at her that made the cold features of his face turn warm. "Domeric Bolton."

* * *

 

Jon

 

The light all around had begun to blur in his vision as the floor reddened with his blood. The pain in his chest had finally faded away and the taste of blood in his mouth disappeared. The sounds he heard became muffled, but he could distinctly hear a woman screaming before all turned to a blackened dream.

Everything began to drift, like ocean waves on the shore. The world was the nothingness it was in the instances before falling asleep and waking up. There were no words to be said and no ideas to be thought. All was quiet like the shadows of the night, and still as the water of a pond.

And then there was music. Someone was singing, a man. There were no words to his song, only his humming voice and the instrument he played. The strings of a harp were plucked in a tune that was sad and calm. But there was a part of the song that gave hope.

Then there was a woman. She was sitting down in the nothingness, wearing a dress blue as winter roses. In fact the dress became winter roses that scattered about at the ends of it. Long black hair stretched down to her waist. She was facing away, hiding the rest of herself.

There was something about her, something familiar, something forgotten. This woman created a deep longing within Jon. He knew her, and she knew him.

"Mama?" Jon stepped closer to her. "Is that you?" He reached his hand out to touch her when he got close enough, but something stopped him. He felt a force pulling him away from her. No amount of strength mustered would pose any resistance to this power. Jon was pulled from her and taken out of the dream and into a light. "Mama!"

The light wrapped around Jon and blinded him with sudden flashes of things he could not understand. His body felt a great pain and a rush of heat flowed through him. His memory was a haze and his consciousness was gone from him. He felt himself move and hurt all over. He was scared, deeply so. And then, he was at rest.

Images like memories flashed before him, except these were things he did not know. Jon saw a great many things he could not comprehend. He saw someone who looked just like him, but years older, lying on a stone floor in strange robe like clothes, face bruised and bleeding greatly before dying. Whoever this person was, the resemblance was exactly the same, and yet Jon knew that it wasn't him.

Golden lions were littering a battlefield, at war with an army of winter roses and a great red dragon with wings of steel, the left valyrian and the right a metal black as night with cold silver coursing through it like veins of blood.

Jon finally awoke from his dream, gasping for air as the morning light blinded his vision. He covered his eyes as he sat himself up. He had been lying a patch of grass in a grove of trees. Over his body was a large red coat that stunk heavy of ale and wine. Regardless of the smell, the coat was warm and the air was cold.

There was a dying fire across from him. And on the opposite side of it, sitting against a tree was the red priest, Thoros of Myr. He was wide awake and staring directly at Jon.

"You're finally awake." He spoke softly. "You've been asleep for three days. And before that, you were dead for nine."

Memories began to flood Jon's mind. He was in his bed, and then a man with a knife attacked Lady Stark. He didn't want him to hurt Lady Stark or the girls, so he tried to stop him, and then… and then… the knife. The man stabbed him.

Jon looked down at his chest and slowly lifted his doublet up. Sure enough, there were two scars on his chest when he exposed it, unhealed but not bleeding. He ran his fingers to the one over his heart. The moment he touched it he jerked his hand away. The scar was real, the knife was real. He died.

Jon felt like he couldn't breath and was gasping heavily for air.

Thoros rushed over to him with a water skin and forced the mouth of it to Jon's lips. "Drink this, slowly."

Jon felt water flow down his throat and it was then he realized how thirsty he was. He felt like he could drink an entire river and not burst.

Thoros pulled the skin away from Jon once he had enough which was almost half of what was there. "I imagine you're hungry too. I got some rabbits almost done cooking." He corked the skin and set it aside.

Jon opened his mouth and moved his lips, but he could not hear any words come out. He tried to speak again but heard none of his words take form. He clasped at his neck, trying to feel if there was something wrong it it.

Thoros looked at puzzled. "What's the matter?"

Jon tried to shout and scream, but there was nothing. He couldn't speak or make a single sound. He started to frantically point at his neck, trying to tell Thoros his problem.

"You can't speak?"

Jon nodded.

Thoros pondered a moment before drawing out a dirk from his belt. Jon saw this and started to panic greatly. The man with the dagger that killed him flashed before his eyes. He tried to get up and run, but there was hardly any strength in his legs.

Thoros set the knife aside and grabbed hold of Jon. "Don't worry, I'm just going to prick your finger. Maybe feeling pain might spark you into some noise."

Jon began to calm down, breathing deeply and slowly. Hesitantly he held out his hand to Thoros and looked away. He felt a sharp sting and wanted to shout out, but there was nothing.

"Not a single sound." Thoros sheathed his dirk. "I'm sorry if I caused this. I didn't mean to rob you of your voice, or bring you back, truth be told."

' _Bring me back?'_  Jon thought. He looked at Thoros, confused as the red priest slumped back and gazed at the dying fire.

"All I did was say a prayer. Nothing glorious or sacred, just some words that weren't empty for once. I never imagined that you would come back to life, but here you are." He eyed Jon curiously. "You are a strange boy, Jon Snow- forgive me. Jon Stark."

' _Jon Stark?'_  Jon didn't know how to ask the priest why he called him Stark instead of Snow, but it seems that he could tell that Jon was confused.

"Yes, Stark. You are a Snow no more. Upon your death, Lady Catelyn asked the king to legitimize you. But, as far as your family and the rest of the world knows, you are still dead in that tomb of yours."

His family. Jon had completely forgotten about them. In fact it was only now that he began to wonder where he was and why.

Jon steadied himself with his arms as he tried to stand up. His legs felt tired like never before and he could barely find the strength in them.

Knowing he hadn't the strength, Jon leaned on the tree behind him for support and finally stood up for the first time since he died.

Looking around, all Jon could see were trees scattered about and patches of snow melting into the ground to nurture the coming spring. He knew for certain that he was still in the North, he just didn't know where. There were no signs of any roads, villages, castles, anything.

"If you're looking for Winterfell, we're far from it," Thoros told him. "We're half a days ride from White Harbor."

' _White Harbor?'_  Jon knew that was in the southern part of the North, the seat of House Manderly and one of the main ports of Westeros.

"I was going to take you to your father when you came back. But then … I saw a vision in candle flames around your tomb that something terrible would happen if I did. A war so great it might destroy more than Robert's Rebellion did. And at the center of it was you." Thoros pointed to him. "All the fighting was for you and I haven't the faintest clue as to why. There's something about you I cannot see, something the Lord of Light is hiding from me. And it needs to stay that way if you want to live again as well as the rest of your family, you understand?"

Jon did not understand. A war was just won and now another was going to happen because of him? What did he ever do? He was just a bastard. He once heard Lady Catelyn say that bastards are nothing but evil. Is that what he is? An evil that will destroy Westeros? He didn't want to be evil, he wanted to go home! But he didn't want his family to die because of him, either.

Jon fell down in his bed of grass and started to cry. ' _Maybe I should have stayed dead.'_  He felt a big hand start to pat him on his back.

"Come on, don't do that. It's better this way. I can't prove it, but I know it is."

Jon wiped his nose and nodded. If leaving was how he could save his family, then maybe he should.

"When we get to White Harbor, you'll be taking a ship to a city far from here called Volantis. Do you know where that is?"

Jon shook his head. He barely knew all of the Houses of the North and was just learning the Houses of the South in his studies.

"It's far to east of here on the continent of Essos. There lies the temple of the Lord of Light. I've sent word to them and they will take care of you."

' _Volantis? Lord of Light? A temple?'_  There was so much to take in. He'd never been out of Winterfell before, let alone the North. He had no idea what to expect from all of this.

"Rabbit's done. Eat it slow or you might choke." Thoros handed one of the rabbits to Jon. he immediately began to eat it once the smell of the meat filled his nose and made his stomach roar for anything at this point.

He wasn't sure how things would be now. Maybe this war Thoros talked about wasn't certain. Maybe he could come home soon if things changed. For now, Jon just wanted to to eat.

After an hour of riding, the horse had found a road and it wasn't long until a village came into sight. There was a small watchtower at the border and hanging down was a blue and white banner with two brown oars crossed at the center. It wasn't a major House's sigil as far as Jon could remember, but it was one of the Houses sworn to the Manderlys. Joana Holt's uncle had a small keep at the fork of the Whiteknife River called Whitetip, but their banner was different, three black pikes under a gray horizontal band on ice blue.

Jon waited on the horse while Thoros went to a market stall filled with freshly cooked bread and tarts. The town was bustling with people driving wagons, carrying barrels and boxes, probably full of things from all over the world. White Harbor was the center of trade for the North, even some from the Vale of Arryn and the Riverlands would travel to conduct their business. All the while he waited, he couldn't stop asking himself dozens of questions in his mind.

' _I wonder what the priest is buying? Is there a special name you call a priest like you call a knight Ser? Holy Thoros? I can't speak so I guess it doesn't matter. I wonder what this temple in Volantis is like. Do they all wear red like Thoros does…'_  his thoughts began to drift to what he saw after being stabbed. ' _I wonder if she really was mother, I wish I got to see her face. And who was singing… why did that man kill me? Why did I have to die? I don't want to die again.'_

Jon felt himself growing terrified of the things that happened and was on the verges of tears. He died and was probably the only person that didn't stay dead.

Thoros had finally returned and held an apple tart to Jon. "Here, this should fill your belly." When Jon took the tart, Thoros handed two small leather pouches to him. "Can you read and write?"

Jon nodded.

"There's some parchments and sticks of charcoal. You can use them to talk to me and anyone else."

Thoros mounted onto the horse as Jon started to eat his tart. Normally he would love the taste of sugary things, but it all just felt bland in his mouth and he had no feelings for excitement or joy, just fear and sadness.

"That reminds me. I know you're a Stark now, but you can't let anyone know who you are. Choose a new name for yourself before we get to White Harbor."

Jon quickly took out one of the papers and a charcoal before the horse got moving and wrote down ' _Why?'_

"For one thing I can't have people know that I grave robbed you, not that anyone would believe it anyway. But if the world knew that a child was resurrected after death, they would tear you apart to know how and why."

Jon wished he never asked now. All of this was just too much for him to comprehend. ' _I'm just a bastard, why did is this all happening to me?'_  He failed to control himself and started to cry heavily, but his whimpers were silent.

"Hey, come on now, don't do that." The pouch of charcoal accidentally slipped from Jon's fingers and fell to the ground, scattering the pieces. Thoros pulled on the reigns and dismounted to pick up the pieces. When he finished, he handed it back to Jon. He wasn't angry or upset, he tried to be understanding. "I know you're scared, and you have every right to be. I've never heard of any tale or legend about men or women being brought back to life. But listen to me now. You are a Stark now, a Stark of Winterfell, descended from the Kings of Winter and First Men. You are a direwolf, and a direwolf must be brave in times like these, alright?"

Jon wrote down on his paper again, the writing sloppy but eligible. ' _How can I be brave when I'm so scared?'_

Thoros smiled at him. "The only time we can be brave is when we're scared. It's when we find the strength to fight our fears do we discover our courage. So do you think you can try to look for it?"

Jon wiped his tears away and nodded. He had remembered when his father told him and Robb that before he went off to fight the Greyjoys but he didn't explain it as much as Thoros did. ' _I'm a Stark, a direwolf. I need to be brave.'_  He wrote on the parchment and showed it to Thoros. ' _My name is Ned Snow.'_

Thoros remounted the horse and resumed riding to White Harbor.

"Before we get there, I need to ask you some things. If you're not ready, that's fine, but I need to know before the ship leaves."

' _Better now than never.'_ He pressed one of the parchments to his leg for a surface and wrote. ' _Ask now.'_

"When you died, where did you go? What did you see?"

Jon wished he could tell, but he didn't know how. He wrote on the back of his parchment. ' _I don't know the words. There was a man singing and playing a harp. I couldn't see him but I saw a woman in a dress that turned into winter roses._ _I think she.'_  Jon crossed out the last bit. He wasn't sure if it would matter. He gave the parchment to Thoros.

Thoros kept silent for a long while. "What's this bit you crossed out? What did you think about this woman?"

Jon took the parchment back and used what spaced remained. ' _I think she was my mother.'_

"Oh, I see. Did Lord Stark ever tell you about your mother?"

Jon shook his head. No matter how much Jon asked, his father would never tell him anything about her. Even in death, Jon couldn't get the chance to meet her, or even see her face. The only thing he saw of her was her long black hair. Now he knew for certain where he got his from. ' _I have her hair.'_

"The man singing, did you recognize his voice?"

' _It was actually more of a humming.'_  Jon shook his head.

The rest of the journey was a calm ride. They passed forty nine carts coming from the city, Jon having nothing else to do counted them. The sun was just above the treeline when they reached the walls of the city. Jon never saw a gate so big before, he had never been anywhere but Winterfell.

When they entered, there were more buildings than Jon could count. He imagined a city to be maybe twice as big as Winter Town, but White Harbor must have had hundreds. Towering above the buildings on a hill was a pale castle. Streaming down its walls were the banners of House Manderly. At the other end of the city was another castle, but the look was different, old and ancient. It had to be the Wolf's Den, once a castle belonging to the Greystarks before they were wiped out, now a prison filled with pirates and sea raiders and other criminals.

The city smelled nothing like the rest of the North. In Winterfell the winds would carry the scents of the earth and the trees, but here there was something new, the smell of the ocean.

Making their way to the harbor, the main street was present with many different shops and taverns. One building in particular had a woman standing at the entrance who recognized Thoros.

"If it isn't the Red Priest, Thoros of Myr." Her words were strange and playful and she was very pretty. She wore a dress that showed the crack between her breasts openly. "Come to have another taste of a mermaid?"

Thoros chuckled at her. "Unfortunately, today is the unluckiest for me that I must decline. But I will savor your flavor sometime in the future, love."

"And who's the child you have with you? A young devotee to your god?"

"An accident to be taken care of." Jon wasn't sure if he meant something else other than accidentally resurrecting him.

The woman waved goodbye before entering the building she was by. It was then that Jon could hear faint sounds of what he thought where laughs and giggles of many women.

They went straight for the harbor, not stopping for any meals on the way. Jon was still hungry, and thirsty more so. He took out a new parchment and wrote down. ' _Will we get food and water before we get to the ship?'_

"If it hasn't left yet, then you can get it from there. If it has, then we'll have to stay here until the next one arrives."

The harbor was now in sight. Jon never seen so many ships before, or any real ones for that matter. He and Robb would play with toy ships but they were nothing compared to the real galleys and warships.

There were more than a dozen ships docked and a few leaving and less entering the harbor. Even though it was evening, there were many people scattered about. Fishermen bringing in their haul, sailors disembarking, and cargo being unloaded. The docks were always busy.

Thoros dismounted and left Jon on the horse while he went to speak with some men who were probably sailors. After a short time, he returned looking pleased.

"We made it just in time. The ship for Volantis is leaving tonight. You'll be stopping at Tyrosh first for two days. Do not leave the ship then, do you understand?"

Jon nodded.

"Good. After that, the ship will go straight to Volantis and there will be some priests like me waiting for you. I've arranged for you to have a cabin and decent food. Your deserve that much at least."

Jon wrote more on his parchment. ' _What about you? Where are you sleeping?'_

Thoros looked grim. "I'm sorry, but I won't be coming with you."

Jon suddenly became worried.

"I need answers to what's going on, to why I was able to bring you back. There's someone on Dragonstone who might have them. I need to see her first, and then I will travel after you, I promise."

Jon was scared about traveling alone, but he remembered Thoros' words to him. ' _I am direwolf, and a direwolf must be brave.'_ He nodded and Thoros picked him off the horse.

"Do you think you can walk?" He carefully set Jon on his feet and slowly took his support away.

Jon stood on his own and took a step forward. It felt a bit tiresome at first, but he managed to pulled some strength together.

"Probably couldn't walk cause you were starving." Thoros chuckled. He led Jon to the ship and walked him to the deck. He knelt down and looked him straight in the eyes. "I promise you, we will learn why it was you came back." He rustled Jon's hair and took his leave from the ship.

By the time the sun was starting to disappear behind the horizon, the ship had made sail and White Harbor grew small in the distance.

Jon rested his arms on the railing and watched as his homeland grew far away, not knowing when he would come back, or if he would come back at all.

One of the sailors found him gazing off. "Boy, your dinner's in your cabin. Follow me." He was a great big man, but not as big as Hodor.

Jon followed the sailor below deck into one of the rooms. Jon was surprised to see another boy inside, but then he realised that he was sharing the cabin with him. He looked older than Jon by a few years and had auburn brown hair. He was sitting at a table with a bowl of soup in front of him and a spoonful in his mouth.

"This ere's your cabin mate… forgot what 'is name was."

The boy swallowed his food. "Asher, my name's Asher."

"Right. Food's on the table, and breakfast is at first light." The sailor took his leave from the two of them.

Asher wiped his mouth clean with his sleeve and got up to greet Jon. "They call this food, but it tastes like saw dust and mud. But the potatoes are alright. So what's your name?"

Asher looked at Jon awkwardly when he went to the table and starting writing on a new parchment. ' _Ned Snow.'_

"Ned, huh? What's wrong with you? Lannister got your tongue?"

Jon felt a little hurt by Asher's tease. He was still trying to get used to his state of silence. Not being able to speak felt instinctively wrong. He wrote down again. ' _I can't speak.'_

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to… sorry." Asher cocked his head to the beds. "The one on the left is yours." leaning against the right bed was rucksack and belt with a sword and an axe sheathed on it. The sword was the size meant for a grown man, too long for Asher to use it normally and the axe had a picture carved in the metal. A lone tree with a sword in the middle, the sigil of House Forrester.

Jon wrote down on his parchment and showed it to Asher. ' _Are you from Ironrath?'_

"Born and raised. My full name is Asher Forrester, second born of Lord Gregor Forrester."

Jon became wide eyed and quickly wrote more. ' _What are you doing here?'_

Asher had a small smile when he took his seat and resumed eating. "What my father wants, leaving home to never return. Apparently it's dishonorable to fall in love with the daughter of your father's enemy. But I won't freeze my arse at the Wall for the rest of my life just to redeem  _his_  honor." Asher brought the entire bowl to his lips and drank the rest of the soup down. "Ugh, nasty, but food is food." He set the bowl down and eyed Jon's soup. "You gonna eat that?"

Jon nodded when he remembered how hungry he was. He took a seat and his first spoonful of the soup tasted awful, but he was too hungry to care. He wished he saved some of his apple tart from today for the trip.

"So Ned, I told you my purpose for being here, what's yours?"

Jon didn't know yet. All he knew was what Thoros had told him which wasn't much, just that he would start a war if he stayed, but all he answered was, ' _I don't know yet.'_


	9. Chapter 9

Robert

  
  


Releasing a great war cry, Robert threw his shield aside and gripped his hammer in both hands. He swung with all his strength and the might of the hammer broke the blade of Rhaegar’s sword and landed square onto the dragon of rubies of Rhaegar’s breastplate. The rubies broke off and scattered into the air like glistening red stars before falling into the river.

Rhaegar coughed up a great amount of blood when he fell back and sank into the water. His lips moved, muttering a soundless word under the water before the light of life left his eyes.

“That was for the love you stole from me,” Robert spat. His armor and hammer dissolved into nothing as did the Trident, Rhaegar, and all of the soldiers battling around them. He was now naked in the darkness, alone and cold.

But then she appeared, in the dress she wore the last Robert saw her, wearing the crown of roses Rhaegar dared to give her. She was as beautiful as the day he last saw her.

“Lyanna.” Robert walked towards her with his arms out. “I’ve done it, I killed the monster who took you from me.”

A sudden growl from behind stopped Robert in his tracks. He thought it was a lion, but when he turned around he saw a large dragon made of cracked rubies baring its teeth at him.

“Lyanna, run!” Robert called out. But when he turned back to face her, she was glaring knives at him. Her body began to twitch and bend and she began to transform into a large brown dire wolf. She snarled and bared teeth as big as daggers. The air was heavy with the intent to kill. She meant to fight the dragon. “No! You can’t fight him!” But it was after those words he realized that it was not the dragon she was preparing to kill, it was him.

Lyanna barked out as she lunged at him and began to rip him apart. Every bite that sank into his body, Robert felt her rage and a hatred like none he had ever known. He was going to scream out his pain, but his throat was torn out of his neck and his voice gone from him.

Robert awoke from his nightmare, screaming out. The whores next to him were startled and fell off the bed. They scurried away from the bed as Robert collected himself and Ser Barristan entered the room.

“Your Grace! Is everything alright?” His sword was drawn halfway out of his scabbard.

Robert was silent. He could still feel the pain of the bites, the anger of Lyanna. He just didn’t understand why it was all directed at him. It all felt real. He got out of the bed and rushed over to a chest containing his things. He opened it and sifted through his clothes to the bottom where a smaller chest was hidden. He opened it, but it was empty. He used the last of the tonic Littlefinger supplied him with.

_ ‘A word of caution. The effects will hold back your anger, but once they wear off, all of it will come rushing out, like a breaking dam unleashing its reservoir. And like the lands, your mind will be forever changed.’ _

“Out,” Robert grumbled.

“Your Gra-”

“Out, all of you!” The whores retrieved their gowns from the floor and ran out nearly screaming, but Ser Barristan remained. “That includes you Selmy, get out!”

Ser Barristan sheathed his sword and made for the door.

“No, wait. Send for more wine… and my hammer.”

Ser Barristan turned back to him, confused. “Your hammer, your grace?”

“Yes, my hammer. Did you not hear? Is your age finally catching up to you?”

Ser Barristan promptly left and the wine was brought faster than the hammer. Robert’s hammer, no other weapon could match its power and strength and no other man except for Ser Gregor Clegane had the strength to wield its weight. It took three men to bring it to Robert’s room.

Robert drank as much wine as he could before feeling his stomach fill, and yet he did not feel his thirst quenched.  He did not feel the euphoria that tended to go along with his normal drinking, nor did he even feel his head swimming as the world around him spun.

No matter how much he took, it did nothing. The pleasure of the whores had faded from memory and he had no drive for their company again. He felt trickles of anger inside of him. He threw the goblet of wine at the wall, the glass shattering into almost nothing.

His nightmare would not stop haunting him. It was like a damn weed that could not be pulled or a biting tick that he couldn’t be rid of. Lyanna’s hate of him would not leave.  It was too real and he didn’t know why.  _ ‘Why did you let him take you? Why did you carry his spawn? Why didn’t you rid yourself of that wretched dragonspawn?’ _

He took hold of his hammer and started swing at anything he could. He went to war with the furniture, destroying anything and everything that got in the hammer’s path. 

His emotions were overtaken with unbridled rage. He wanted blood, more than anything now.   _ ‘Damn you, Rhaegar Targaryen!’  _ He wanted Rhaegar to come back alive so he could kill him again. _ ‘Damn you, Eddard Stark!’ _ He wanted Ned’s head mounted on a spike on the walls of his castle for his betrayal. But, most of all, he wanted to go to Lyanna when she fell pregnant with Rhaegar’s bastard.  He wanted to ask her why she didn’t even try to kill the babe while she could. The babe that killed her instead. How could she rather have birthed a dragonspawn bastard than live to be with him? Were her legs that easy to pry open? Did she even try to close them? _ ‘DAMN YOU, LYANNA!  DAMN YOU ALL TO THE SEVEN HELLS!’’ _

Robert roared out as his attacked his bed. The feather cushions were torn to pieces and the oak bed frame smashed and splintered. The stone floor received a few blows and was cracked deeply.

The destruction of his bedroom only lasted for a few minutes. Robert’s rage had begun to die down as he concluded venting it out. He let slip his hammer from his fingers and nearly fell as he sat down amidst the broken things.

Ser Barristan re-entered with Ser Jaime and four other men including Lord Hayford.

“You’re grace,” Ser Barristan spoke in shock, “what in the name of the seven is the matter?”

Robert gave him a scowl. “Is it morning yet?” He his voice was dry and parched even though he had drunk so much wine.

“It is.” Ser Barristan replied.

Robert groaned as he got back to his feet. “We’re leaving, now.” He gave Lord Hayford a look. “Send a raven of the cost of damages and you’ll be given what’s owed.”

Lord Hayford, that feeble old man, just shriveled back in fear. “Y-yes your grace.”

As quick as they arrived at the castle Hayford the previous evening the royal party was gone as the sun was just beginning to climb into the afternoon. They rode hard on the Kingsroad for hours until finally, the familiar smell of the city was present and King’s Landing came into sight.

Once the Gold Cloaks at the gates saw the King’s Banners, they announced the arrival and opened the way into the city.

People began to crowd the streets to see their victorious king like rats. Many of them began to cheer out for him.

“Hail, King Robert, slayer of the Krakens!”

“Hail the King, conqueror of the Iron Islands!”

He had been looking forward to this moment for months now. The people praising their King for his victory. But all of it seemed so meaningless now. All their words were empty that most would get drunk from such glory.

He ignored all of the people all the way to the Red Keep. By then, he was in the castle courtyard. His wife and children were there waiting for him as was Jon. He didn’t give any of them a second glance except for the one person he was looking forward to seeing. Standing with his imp of a son by Cersei was Tywin Lannister.

“Welcome back, your grace,” Jon greeted, stepping forward from his wife, Lysa, “it is wonderful to see you unharmed from the war. We were all worried when we received the news of the attack at Winterfell.”

Robert dismounted his destrier. “There was nothing  _ to _ worry about. Any man that gets killed by a nine-year boy with a table knife can hardly call himself an assassin.” A few of those gathered shared a laugh.

“Indeed, but… Ned’s bastard.”

Robert flinched at the mention of the bastard.  “Yes, yes it was tragic about your namesake’s death. But I gave him his just rewards. He’s been buried a Stark.”

“Father!” Joffrey shoved passed Jon to get to Robert. “How many Ironborn did you kill? Did you crush any of the Greyjoys with your hammer?”

Robert chuckled at him. “All in good time. But I have some important duties I must attend first.”

“Duties?” Jon asked. “You’ve only just arrived.”

“And the sooner I take care of them the sooner I can return to drinking. Gather some of the guards and post them outside the small council chamber.”

Jon was obviously surprised at that. Robert had only been to one small council meeting after all. “Y-yes. I’ll inform the other members-”

“This isn’t a small council meeting. This is between me and the Lord of Casterly Rock and no one is to disturb us. Am I clear?” There were a few whispers and murmurs among those gathered.  He looked directly at Lord Tywin as he said that who did nothing except raise his eyebrow.

But the Hand of the King didn’t seem to notice that.  “As you command, your grace.”

He and Lord Tywin proceeded to the chamber in silence, but he could tell the old man was trying to decipher why he was being brought there.  When they arrived, the council room was sealed from all ears and guards were posted outside the doors and ordered to detain any suspicious characters lingering around.

Robert was pleased to see Petyr Baelish already by his seat as  Tywin Lannister took his, though their moods were complete opposites. Littlefinger was pleased to be here but Tywin was an angry old man as always.

“Your grace,” They both greeted with a subtle bow of the head.

“Spare me your damn courtesies,” Robert said. “We have much to discuss. I’m surprised you got in without much trouble, Baelish.”

“Some of the guards visit my establishments frequently, and they’d rather keep that knowledge from their wives.”

“I don’t care how, all I care is that no one will hear of what happens in this room.”

“I have seen to that as well. No little birds or spiders shall hear the whispers we speak.

“So it seems,” Tywin said, “but before we do I will know why I was abruptly summoned from home without any reason or the slightest notice.”

“I was the one who sent the raven, my Lord Tywin,” Petyr admitted. “Now that you are here, you should know that the information we have it of the greatest secrecy, too much so to be sent by a raven or any fowl or beast of the earth.”

“Then speak it now, or I will take my leave. I have many duties to my House and my home being delayed because of you and I will not have my time wasted.” Tywin took his seat before Robert and Petyr did. He never did fail to intimidate. Every moment the Golden Lion of Casterly Rock spoke, his words gave worry of war even of the slightest of things.

Robert leaned his elbows on the table and folded his hands together. “You were summoned to help us prepare for a war against a family of traitors.”

“War,” Tywin confirmed, “seems rather dull to start one just after winning one.”

“This war will not happen so soon as you may think, my lord,” Petyr told him. “Not now, but when the pieces are in place perfectly and game set in our favor.”

“And who are these traitors that you speak of?”

“The Starks of Winterfell,” Robert said. For the first time of ever knowing Tywin Lannister, Robert witnessed the look of surprise on the man’s face.

Tywin regained his composure as soon as he lost it. “And why would you fight against a man you consider a brother?”

“Ned Stark is no longer a brother of mine. No brother of mine would harbor a Targaryen in secret from me.”

Tywin looked at Robert dead in the eyes as if Robert told a terrible joke. “A Targaryen? I know the remaining children of the Mad King are across the Narrow Sea and Aemon Targaryen is rotting away at the Wall. What Targaryen do you speak of?”

“Allow me to explain, my lord.” Petyr injected. “A few months before the end of the rebellion, I traveled to Winterfell in search of some women to expand the variety of my business, for they tend to last much longer than others. But while there, I spoke with the Lady Catelyn Stark.”

“I’ve heard that you grew up with the Lady Stark when she was a Tully,” Tywin said. “I’ve also heard you have a close relationship with her sister, Lysa.”

Littlefinger smirked. “I indeed grew up with them and much affection for Lady Stark, and her sister.  And I will admit, I held out a hope that Lord Tully would see my suit of his elder daughter favorable, but, alas, it did not happen.  But that is beside the point, my Lord. While I was there, she let slip a bit of information about Ned Stark's bastard boy that led me to believe he was not his bastard as he told the world, but a bastard of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.  He went on to explain, in detail, all that had been said by Catelyn. “The timing of the boy’s birth and the location was just far too coincidental, for one thing. But my suspicions were only that, suspicions. The King was the one to confirm them.”

Both sets of eyes were on Robert now. “The bastard was Rhaegar’s with his mother’s colors. I never would have seen it if you didn’t tell me, Lord Baelish. Well done with the assassin, by the way. I’m not sure how he knew which room was the bastard’s, but well done. I’ll never forget your services to me.”

“You honor me, your grace. And the assassin was a simple matter, I gave him the dagger and told him to kill the King and I had a young woman as an informant in Winter Town tell him where the King’s room was. Conveniently, he was told incorrectly.”

“I see to it that you’re compensated for your lost dagger. Valyrian steel is hard to come by.”

“There will be no need. The dagger is part of a nice trail that will lead the Starks to Dorne.”

“What about this informant?” Tywin asked. “How do you know she won’t lead the trail back to you?”

Littlefinger gave a sly smirk. “You have nothing to worry about, my lord. I have made the arrangements for that to be taken care of.”

“Hm…” Tywin turned his attention back to Robert. “And now that this bastard of Rhaegar is dead, what do you plan to do now, your grace?”

“I swear to the gods, Old and New and every fucking god there is that I will have war against Eddard of House Stark. I will have the revenge I demand for his treachery!” Robert slammed his fists on the table, causing Littlefinger to flinch back. “Baelish, you happen to have any more of that potion, do you?”

“Alas, what I gave was all I could get from my contact at the Citadel with the Bottled Pox.”

“Bottled Pox?” Tywin inquired.

“I know of a maester at the Citadel who does some unethical practices that provide incredible results, such as ways to bottle sickness and disease, either to study or inflict on others. He keeps his work a secret and so do I as long as he provides assistance when I ask for it.”

Robert grumbled at that. Aside from suppressing the anger within him, he had also gotten a feeling of bliss from the potion he drank.

“I think what may help for now is a celebration. A war has been won after all, and a feast in Winterfell is such a little of a thing compared to festivities of the southern kingdoms.”

“Perhaps a tourney,” Tywin suggested. “Lannisport has just finished recovering from the reaving and plundering of the Ironborn. A celebration of sorts would be of benefit for those who lost much in the war.”

“Yes, a tourney for the victory,” said Robert. “That’s what I need right now.”

“I’ll have a raven sent to my brother to make the arrangements.”

“Most gracious of you to do so, Lord Tywin,” Littlefinger said. “And afterward, we can begin the work to bring down the North.”

“And how exactly does a flesh peddler plan on conquering it?” Lord Tywin asked. “The North is the largest of all the kingdoms. They are strong people and when winter comes, not even an army ten times the size of theirs can defeat them. Only fools think of them as barbarians.”

There was an unexpected knock on the doors to the council room. Robert leaped to his feet. “I ordered us not to be disturbed!”

Baelish rose to his feet smoothly.  “Apologies, your Grace, but I took the liberty of inviting another to join us and...discuss the future. It occurred to me that if we are to truly achieve a victory in the North, we’ll need some allies who are from the North. And I found someone who has taken issue in the past with the way the Stark’s have governed the North. His House has a wonderful history with them. I believe he will be most helpful in continuing our endeavor.” Baelish opened the door and in walked a strange man. He wore clothes from the North and had pale eyes that almost seemed cold. “Allow me to introduce Lord Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort.”

* * *

  
  
  


Cersei

  
  


“I know have a vial somewhere, your grace,” Pycelle said as he searched through his study, glancing over bottles of potions and poisons. “Ah, here we are, The Maiden’s Blessing.” Pycelle retrieved a bottle from his shelves and poured the contents into a small vial for Cersei. “Add a few drops of this with some water an hour before you act, and your womb shall be more fertile to conceive.”

“Thank, grand maester.” Cersei smiled slyly at him. Though he was a man that often annoyed and disgusted her, he at least had his uses. “Just remember to keep quiet about this. I wish to surprise my husband should the potion work.”

“Of course, your grace. Such a wonderful thing of you to work for another child of royal blood. I am most assured that the king will be pleased when it happens.”

Cersei took her vial and left. She had been in a heat of sorts ever since the raven from Pyke arrived announcing the end of the rebellion. She couldn’t wait to be back in his arms, to feel him inside her. She missed Jaime every day he was gone from her.

The evening was almost here and Robert would most likely be heading off to some gutter rat tavern and then a brothel. She cared not for it anymore, as long as it got him away and Jaime closer.

Cersei retreated from Pycelle’s study and made for her room. She couldn’t help but smirk while she walked. She had been wanting another child for the past year now. Another babe with golden hair. She hoped that this one would be another girl, like Myrcella. She wanted to give her beautiful daughter a sister that she would grow up with, just as sweet as her.

Though if she had a boy, she would be just as pleased. Another prince that could be the heir father so greatly wanted. Jaime had refused to give up his white cloak, and Tyrion, the little monster, lost his claim the day he killed her mother. She tried to not let her thoughts be clouded with things that would anger her. Tonight was going to be wonderful for her and Jaime.

But while climbing the steps to her room, one of her father’s servants found her. “Your grace,” he said, “Lord Tywin is waiting for you in the small council chamber.”

Father? What did he want? Though the timing was annoying, it was no inconvenience for Cersei. “Did he say why?”

“No, your grace.”

Cersei would have been surprised if father had said why since he hardly ever did.

Knowing that it wasn’t wise to keep Tywin Lannister waiting, Cersei followed the servant all the way to the throne room.

“He awaits you in the small council chambers.” The servant bowed before taking his leave.

Cersei strode into the small council room and saw only her father seated at the table writing out a document among a few. He gestured to an empty chair adjacent to him. “Sit down.” He kept at his work and didn’t even look up at her when she sat down. In fact, he kept writing on his paper, the only noise being made at all was the scratching of the quill. This dragged on for longer than it should have.

“Is there something you wanted to talk about or did you just want me here as a piece of furniture to help liven the room?”

Father finished the line he was on and set his quill in his inkwell. “I wanted to have a talk with my daughter, but if you see yourself as something as low as furniture then would you like me to address you as such?” He always had a way of turning one’s own words against them.

“I am the Queen and I have more important things to do than watch my father at work.”

“If you’d rather me interrupt you during one of these many important things than wait for me to finish then take your leave. But be prepared to turn around as soon as you do.” Father took the quill back in hand and resumed writing. He was always free to let others wait for him but never wait for others.

Cersei sat in a frustrated silence as she waited. But luckily it wasn’t for much longer because Tywin quickly finished his writing and dripped some wax near his signature and stamped the Lannister Lion onto the document, making it official.

“Now then, we have a matter to discuss. After meeting with your husband, the king, he has decided that should Jon Arryn pass these coming years, he will be naming me Hand of the King.”

This made Cersei brighten up. Finally, Robert was doing something right for once, and yet, she couldn’t understand why he would. “That’s wonderful news. How on earth did you convince him?”

“I didn’t. Someone else did and I plan to generously pay that debt. But who did is not of your concern. Though Jon Arryn lives, I have been tasked by Robert to strengthen the crown’s hold over the realm. This will also give us the chance to strengthen our hold as well.”

“Our hold? There are more than half a dozen branches of our House and those are the only ones worth mentioning. Does Uncle Gerion plan to marry then?”

“No, the fool is still planning that expedition of his. Though there is a part of me that wishes him to succeed, it is outweighed by the part that wants him to come to his senses.” Tywin stood up from his seat and paced over to one of the windows, gazing to the outside. “Our name can be found in five of the nine realms. The other four either want nothing to do with us and the Iron Islands are a place I would not sully our name.” He turned back to face her. “You, however, possess the greatest answer to our greatest challenge. You have two children of royal blood and though Joffrey will inherit the crown, Myrcella will not.”

Cersei felt a great cold rush over her. “You plan to sell my little girl?”

“No, I plan to wed her to a great lord’s heir and for her to give him children of Lannister blood.”

“No!” Cersei balled her fist. “I will not let you sell my baby girl like some broodmare as you did me! Myrcella is my daughter, not yours!”

“You sound as if we plan to wed her on the morrow to Walder Frey.” He spoke firmly.

“We?”

“Robert was the one to suggest the marriage. When Myrcella has her first moonblood, she will wed Ned Stark’s heir and become Lady of Winterfell. That gives her plenty of years to grow and be with her mother.”

“You would send her to live in a cold wasteland with a barbaric husband!?”

Tywin scowled at her. “The North is one of the greatest of all the realms and it is the largest.  The Starks are the oldest family in the realm. But their name will be fading from this world soon.” Tywin walked back to the table to Cersei, but there was something about the way that he said that felt off.  Before she could query him further he continued. “Things have already been set in motion and if our family is to stride through them then acquiring the North is paramount.”

Cersei was still fuming at whatever the plan Robert and her father had cooked up.  “I will not see my daughter shipped off to that wasteland.” She got out of her seat and made for the door, but Tywin spoke out to her before she reached it.

“Myrcella will be wed to the Stark boy one way or another. Either you tell her of this or Tyrion shall.”

Cersei froze in her steps.

“I know how fond he is of her and she of him. I’m sure he would love to tell her about becoming a wife to a powerful heir.”

Cersei did not reply, but her fists tightened.

“You have until tomorrow evening to tell her the news.”

It was a while later when Cersei took to her room, almost broken-hearted at the thought that her only daughter would become a piece in her father’s game for control of the country.  But the more she thought about it, the more she couldn’t help but be glad that it was the Stark’s she would be going to. Cersei knew enough about them. They are the most honorable of all Houses, they would never mistreat Myrcella.

She tried thinking of where she would have Myrcella be sent to instead. Maybe she could marry a Lannister cousin as father did, but all of them were not worthy of her. Dorne was out of the question. She would be dead the moment she took her first step.

In the end, the North was the best place Myrcella could be sent to, but Cersei couldn’t accept that, she wouldn’t. Myrcella belonged with her.

Her thoughts became interrupted when there was a knock on her door.

When she opened it, she was utterly glad to see Jaime standing there, but he did not look happy to see her.

“I have been sent by the king to retrieve you to his chambers,” he told her.

Her joy faded. Nothing about today had gone how she wanted. Luckily she had been too caught up in her thoughts that she forgot to take the Maiden’s Blessing and she had a private stash of moon tea for these rare occasions.

But maybe this was the chance she needed to convince Robert about giving Myrcella to the Starks. Her best weapon was between her legs after all.

She took a deep breath before walking with Jaime to the King’s solar. Before they reached the door, she quietly spoke to him. “I have been dreaming that I would have another child Jaime. I hope that could soon be a reality.”

He whispered back to her. “I’ll see that it will, your grace.”

Cersei entered the room and closed the door behind her. She saw Robert outside on the balcony overlooking the city. In the corner of the room was a small puddle of wine and a smashed goblet near it.

She joined him on the balcony. “Was the wine not to your tasting, my husband?”

He shook his head. “None of it has as of late. And I can’t get drunk either. The gods are worshipped shits that are toying with me.”

Cersei smirked behind his back.  _ ‘If only they did that more often.’  _ She turned around and made for the bed, undoing her robe and nightgown and letting them fall to the floor.  _ ‘The sooner we get this over with, the better.’ _ “Come to the bed, my love. Let me ease your frustration.” He turned to see her naked at the foot of the bed. She looked at him seductively like no filthy whore could. All would be what she needed to play him long enough and get what she desired.

Robert pulled off his shirt and breeches as he approached her. He was getting fat, but he still had a great strength to him. He picked her up and laid her on the bed.

She never felt pleasure when he took her and she didn’t now. Usually, all she had to do was lay and let him move. But this time he wasn’t drunk which meant he would actually be paying attention.

She mustered some sounds and put on a display that would fool even the best of mummers. Once or twice she couldn’t contain herself and felt a jolt of pleasure from Robert, but he would never give her the same feelings that Jaime could.

He was getting close to being done, and at the end of it, all was the most painful part of this whole thing. She waited for him to utter that damned name before finishing.

Robert’s head fell next to her and he whispered to her. “Cersei.”

Nothing but shock took over her emotions. Never once in all their years did he ever mutter her name before, it was always that Stark bitch’s name. She locked eyes with Robert and could see that he had a lust for her.

He pulled her head to his and deeply kissed her against her will, but she let herself be taken by him at that moment.

By now he should have collapsed and fallen asleep, but he kept going, all the while holding her in his arms, whispering to her. “My Cersei.”

* * *

  
  


Jaime

  
  


With his shift finally over, Jaime took to the White Sword Tower and relieved himself of his armor and cloak. His body felt so light after shedding the gilded steel, but he still felt a great weight upon him. He felt it ever since he left Winterfell.

It was still early in the night, and Jaime needed something to ease himself. He had been hoping to spend it with Cersei but Robert stole that from him. So instead, he would seek the company of his brother.

Tyrion was at a tavern called the Drunken Dragon at the edge of the Cobbler’s square. It wasn’t the richest of places given where it was located, but Tyrion had a knack for finding the best wines and beers. He was at a table surrounded by a few of their father’s bannermen who accompanied them, telling drunken tales and jokes.

“What do you call a Frey girl that can outrun her cousins?”

All of the men looked dumbfounded for the answer.

“A Virgin!” Everyone started bursting with laughter, one man so much that he forgot to inhale and passed out. Tyrion’s attention turned when he saw Jaime in the tavern. 

“Dear brother!” He called as he approached. “Such a thing for you to join me. Come, there’s another round of wine is on the way.”

“Tyrion, I need to talk to you,” Jaime told him in a serious tone.

Tyrion’s gleeful mood disappeared and was replaced with concern. For being one of the drunkest men in the tavern, he sobered up fairly quick it seemed. He nodded and brought him to one of the more quieter places in the tavern. “Do you want something to drink?”

Jaime was going to refuse, but maybe some wine would be good right now. He nodded and almost like magic a horn of it was brought to him. Either the service was excellent or Tyrion really was a magician.  “I’m surprised that you came. I thought you would be up to your chin helping Uncle Gerion prepare for his expedition.”

“He insisted I should travel with father. He thought I would enjoy the city.”

“And?”

Tyrion eyed his horn of wine. “Besides the smell, I find there are many great things King’s Landing has to offer.” He finished what wine remained and set the horn aside. “Enough of the small talk. The only time I ever saw you like this is when you told me why you killed Aerys.”

“I told you because you were the only one who understood.”

Tyrion nodded. “Father was too proud of taking the city and Cersei too enthusiastic to care. You will always have my ears to you.”

Jaime felt heartened knowing that. “I didn’t know Rhaegar that long, only a few months. But we had been together enough that he would call me his brother. He believed in me as much as he did Arthur Dayne or Oswell Whent. Do you know what his last words to me were?” Tyrion merely shrugged his shoulders and Jaime chuckled as he took a drink of his wine. “Protect my children, Jamie. Let no harm come to them as you would your own family.” He took another drink. “I killed Aerys to protect father, and I was so blind to forget what Rhaegar asked of me. Father got everything he wanted that day, except for his heir. I wouldn’t let my failure be his gain.”

 

“Brother, you honored me by telling me the truth of that day.  But other than that, I have not the fucking slightest as to what you are talking about now.”

 

Jaime sighed as he leaned forward. “Seeing the Stark bastard at Winterfell… it made me remember. Since then I’ve felt like Rhaegar’s ghost has been behind my back, whispering to me, reminding me of the promise I made to him.”

 

“Would his ghost like to have a drink?” Tyrion burped, along with the jape. “I’m sorry, the wine.” He set his horn aside and leaned to Jaime. “I’ve never had ghosts follow me, but if any did then I would tell them to go fuck themselves. They’re the shadows of the dead. If Rhaegar is reminding you, maybe you should try asking why that is and what he wants you to do about it, not that you can. His children are dead with him, nothing we do can change that, you can only act on your failure.”

Remembering what he heard, Jaime knew Tyrion was right.  The children were dead, all of them. Rhaenys stabbed half a hundred times, Aegon’s head, smashed against a wall and...

Jaime knew his brother was right.  So he left Tyrion and departed back for the Red Keep. The journey was longer than the one he took to get to the tavern. Probably because he couldn’t stop thinking about that day in Winterfell.

_ “Kingslayer, go see if Ned is sulking,” Robert ordered, but it was harsh considering his friend had just lost a child, bastard or not. _

_ Jaime obeyed and followed after Catelyn, but she was most likely already with her husband when he left. The door to their room was closed and he was about to knock, but he could hear Lord Stark speaking. _

_ “He wasn’t my son.” _

_ “You.. he-” _

_ “He was Lyanna’s. Her trueborn son with Rhaegar.  _ _ I promised her I would protect him on her deathbed, I promised her and I failed.” _

Even just the memory of those words haunted Jaime. There wasn’t a single ounce of deceit or falsity. Ned Stark spoke true. Jaime had to creep away while he could. He told no one of what he heard, he still couldn’t believe it.

“Why do haunt me so, Rhaegar?” Jaime whispered to himself. “I failed your last living child, what more do you want?” Jaime wanted to punch at something, but there was nothing and no one around. He thought about what Tyrion told him. What would he do now that he knew one of the greatest secrets in the world, so great that even in death Jon Stark’s true heritage is a dangerous knowledge?

“This time… this time.” He would keep his promise to Rhaegar and keep the secret of Jon Stark.  “I swear I will protect your secret.”

* * *

  
  


Jon

  
  


Leaning over the railing of the ship, Jon heaved out his food from the morning into the vast ocean. He wished he didn’t have to vomit. He still had a hunger from death and he could feel his body lacking energy for strength. He wasn’t sure if it was the fish from the afternoon or if seasickness finally caught up to him.

Asher whistled at Jon, impressed. “Never seen someone heave out so far. I think that’s worthy of the Citadel.”

_ ‘Oh, shut up!’  _ Jon’s shouted in his mind, having no means to write anything down at the moment. He felt another blast rising in his throat and released it into the ocean.

“At least you’re feedin’ the fish.” Asher teased.

Jon waved his fist in the air and wiped his mouth clean. He drank some water from a nearby bucket to clean his mouth of the taste and smell of his vomit. He could feel he had no more to heave out which was relieving.

“You finished?”

Jon still had the nasty feeling in his stomach, but he knew he was done. He set the bucket aside and rejoined Asher who patted him on his back.

“Don’t worry, Ned. First time my older brother and I were on a ship, He threw up far more than you did.” Asher picked up two nearby wooden poles that he and Jon were used as swords. “Come on, let’s get back to practice.”

Being on the ship was one of the most boring experiences for Jon. There was hardly anything to do except for watching the sailors work and the fish that would swim near the ship. Aside from that, the only other things Jon could do were eat, sleep, and think about his resurrection. He had probably asked some of the same questions dozens of times by now. 

Luckily, Asher was set on keeping up with practicing his sword skills and had Jon join him every time. He was far more learned than Jon was and always struck harder than he promised he would. But the best thing about sparing with Asher was that it took Jon’s mind away from his death and home.

Using a barrel lid as a shield, Jon took his stance and would go on the offensive this time. He was going to get Asher this time.

“Alright,” Asher said, “I overheard one of the cabin boys say we’re having pork jerky tonight. If you can land three hits on me before I land ten, I’ll give you some of mine.” Asher shook his arms out before taking his stance.

Jon felt more motivated to get the three hits now. He lost his breakfast and was getting hungrier than usual. _ ‘Okay, keep body loose, speed and strength, I can do this.’ _ Jon took the first advance and Asher followed to meet him. Jon’s advantage was that he had a shield and Asher didn’t use one, but that was about it. Asher was stronger and faster and more skilled.

Asher took the first swing and Jon caught the rod with his shield and attacked low. But like all the other matches, Asher was quick enough to meet him. But this time Jon rushed forward and bashed into Asher with his shield and knocked him backward, giving him the time to land the first strike on Asher’s left arm.

“You’re learnin’.” Asher said, “but you’ve still got a helluva lot to know.” Asher knocked Jon’s shield away and hit Jon square in the leg. The pain shot up to his body and Asher wasn’t merciful as he followed up with another two strikes. “Don’t let your guard down when you get a hit.”

Jon brought his shield back to guard his body, but Asher’s next strike was coming from above. Jon raised his rod and parried the strike and managed to tap Asher on the arm.  _ ‘Just one more!’ _

“Dammit!” Unexpectedly, Asher rushed forward and grabbed onto Jon’s shield with his free hand, prying it away from Jon’s body leaving him wide open. Asher thrust his rod to slide it underneath Jon’s armpit like he was stabbing him.

The moment Jon felt the wood slide on his body, the memory of the man with the knife flashed before his eyes. He felt the memory of pain when the blade pierced his heart and that terrible smirk the man had, and Lady Stark’s scream.

Jon panicked and lost all the strength in his legs and fell backward, dropping his rod and shield. He started to breathe heavily grasped at his chest where his heart was.

Asher laughed a little at Jon. “Haha, I have slain the tiny Ned Snow!” He thought Jon was playing with him, but Asher’s expression changed when he saw the fear and haunting look Jon had in his eyes. “Ned? Ned, are alright?” Asher dropped his rod and knelt beside him.

Jon couldn’t hold back the tears that formed from the memory he had.

“Did I hurt you? I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean to.”

“Wha’s goin’ on ‘ere?” One of the sailors asked as he walked by. “Wha you do to ‘im?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him, it was an accident!” Asher said.

The sailor shook his head as he rolled his eyes. “Looks like it’s his chest. Get ‘is shirt off an’ check for bruises. We got some stuff for those.” He left the two boys and got back to work.

Asher was big enough that he could pick up Jon. He brought him over to a corner of barrels and worked to get the doublet off.

It was then that Jon snapped out of his fear and realized what Asher was doing.  _ ‘No stop! Don’t look!’  _ he fought back at keeping his shirt on, but Asher persisted.

“Cut it out! It’s not like I’m not gonna take your pants too-” The temporary annoyance Asher had was replaced with complete shock as he fell on his rear. “What in seven hells was that?”

Jon locked eyes with Asher and was just as terrified as he was.

“Your chest… a scar.” Asher slowly approached Jon. “I know I didn’t just see things. You have a scar right here, a fresh one.” He placed two fingers on the area of his chest where Jon was stabbed the first time. “Let me see it again.”

Jon shook his head.

“Let me see, dammit!” Asher hissed.

Jon grew scared of what he would do if he didn’t show. He lifted up the ends of his doublet and revealed not just the one, but both scars. The still hadn’t healed or even began to scab. The remained open and clean of blood.

“Fuck. Those are knife wounds. My master at arms showed me one he took to his leg fighting the Ironborn. But these are deeper than his, you should be dead. I mean, Ned Stark’s bastard took two knives to the chest and didn’t-” He slowly shifted his gaze from the scars to Jon’s eyes. He was at a loss for words for a moment. “Are… are you him? The Bastard of Winterfell?”

Jon’s eyes fell to the deck before he nodded slightly.

“Oy, you two.” One of the other sailors approached them. “Get to your cabins before the rain starts fallin’.”

“Rain? What rain?” Asher asked.

The sailor pointed his finger in the direction they were sailing and arising from the horizon were a great many clouds that flashed from lightning.

“We’re gonna sail through that?” Asher exclaimed.

“Hells no. We’re changing course to avoid it. We’re gonna make port several days from now in Pentos.”

_ ‘Pentos? Where’s that? What about Volantis? What about the Red Priests?’ _ Jon began to panic even more now. Asher found out his secret and now they weren’t going to the place that had the answers for him.

Asher took notice of this and pulled Jon to his feet. “Come on, let’s go to our cabin, alright? We can have some jerky and you can tell me the story about how you’re still alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now begins the stop until Night Dragons is finished. There won't be any more previews because many of you got butthurt because of them. But for those who said they were done with the story. As Gabriel Iglesias impersonating Bill Clinton once said- "Haha, I knew you'd be back."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I might be ending this but I have the chapter written so might as well, right?

Benjen

 

"Open the gates!" the brother above the portcullis called out.

The large wooden doors might as well have just collapsed from their hinges. The wood was warped and cracking and the metalwork was rusting. It would take only a single charge with a battering ram to destroy the gates to Castle Black.

Benjen rode his horse through, leading in the recruits Ned managed to supply him with from Winterfell. The poachers Lord Welric gave had been collected along the way when they stopped by Wolfrain Keep. the Umber's men went to Eastwatch by the Sea and there were still many from the other Houses of the North yet to come. Benjen only wished that the majority of them were soldiers instead of criminals and boys with nowhere else to go.

But soon there would be a few hundred men going to each of the manned castles along the Wall. King Robert was generous to give a thousand men. The Night's Watch needed as many as they could get, but Benjen would refuse them all if he could. It felt more like Robert had no idea what to do to ease Ned's pain and just thought it would be something.

Lord Commander Mormont was watching from the balcony across from the lift as Benjen and the men he escorted pooled through the gates. The courtyard was bustling with men at work. The builders were doing maintenance on the life and the commons. The air echoed with the sounds of Donnel Noye's hammer striking his steel in the forges.

Benjen dismounted and let one of the stable boys take his horse from him. He didn't notice when his two brothers, Ser Jaremy Rykker and Alren the Blacksnake, met him. Of all his fellow brothers in the Watch, they were the only ones Benjen would consider true brothers to him.

"Welcome home, Stark." Ser Jeremy greeted. "How was the warm weather?" He was one of the more pleasant ones at the Wall.

Benjen was in no mood for talking right now. The entire journey from Winterfell, he only spoke maybe half a dozen times and only when he needed to. "I'm getting some food." He walked right past them and didn't pay heed when they followed.

"We heard about what happened to your nephew," Blacksnake said.

"Aye, so did the whole damn country." Benjen had seen many men and boys die in front of him before. He killed wildings that were younger than him, he watched green boys freeze to death and saw others dragged off by Sarshans and Thenns to be eaten alive. And yet despite that, he couldn't feel himself accepting Jon's death. "If you want your words to mean anything, then keep them to yourself."

Benjen took to the mess hall and was served his food by Hobb. Ser Jaremy and Blacksnake joined him at his table and were some of the few inside, eating. Except Benjen wasn't eating. He just stared at his stew as if he was expecting something to happen.

For the first time at the Wall, Benjen was not hungry. While the others ate, his rabbit stew and hard ale remained untouched. His left hand held his spoon as he swirled the contents of the stew around while his right hand rested on his temple with his elbows on the table.

"C'mon Stark." Ser Jaremy nudged Benjen in the shoulder. "It's better to move past this now than let it drag on. We've seen more than our share dead children beyond and behind the Wall. I know he was family to ya, but remember that he died honorably. He took a knife meant for the king and will be remembered for that. Might even get a song for it."

Benjen dropped his spoon and raised his head. "Do you think I want to remember my nephew in a song? Do you think I want to remember him as a child who got killed instead of a drunken king?" In the end, Jon's death was because an assassin's blunder and the whole realm would know it. It would be nothing but a joke for many.

"What's there to remember?" a voice from behind asked. Benjen turned and saw Ser Alliser Thorne behind him, smirking smugly at him. "Your brother's bastard got more than he deserved. A child of sin doesn't deserve a glorious end." Benjen stood up, got out of his seat and faced Ser Alliser. The mess hall quieted down as the tension rose. "I bet your brother's glad the stain on his honor got washed out."

Benjen clenched his fist so tight he thought his fingernails would cut into his palm. This knight was the real bastard. A child of a man who couldn't let go of his defeat in the rebellion.

"Ser Alliser…" Benjen said softly before pointing his finger to the high table, "do you see the Lord Commander there?"

The moment Ser Alliser turned his head, his face met with Benjen's knuckles square in the nose. Ser Alliser didn't even hit the ground by the time Benjen was on top of him and throwing punch after punch into his face.

"Benjen, no!" Ser Jaremy and Blacksnake got out of their seat and restrained Benjen, pulling him off of Alliser.

Benjen didn't resist much when they pulled him away. He vented enough of his anger to calm down. Ned would probably be ashamed of him for doing such a thing dishonorable. For once, Benjen didn't give a single damn about his honor.

Ser Alliser was still on the ground, grasping at his blood-soaked nose. "You broke my nose you fuckin' Stark!"

Before Ser Alliser could say more, Lord Commander Mormont got between him and Benjen. The Old Bear grabbed Ser Alliser by the shirt and pulled him off the floor to his feet. "I warned you not to do anything stupid, Thorne. Go clean yourself up." He let go of Alliser and turned his gaze to Benjen. "Stark, with me. Now."

Ser Jaremy and Blacksnake let go of Benjen as he followed the Lord Commander out of the mess hall. He was brought to the Lord Commander's chambers and seated across Commander Mormont.

Old Jeor Mormont didn't look pleased with Benjen or the situation. "How many times did you hit Thorne?"

"Three," Benjen replied sternly.

"For the respect I had for your father and condolences for your brother's son, I will forget of one for the nephew you lost."

"I apologize for letting my emotions get the better of me, but I won't ask for forgiveness from Thorne."

"I don't expect it of you nor demand that you do. But I can't let your outburst go unpunished."

"I understand."

Commander Mormont sighed out. "You are confined to your chambers until the eve of tomorrow. After that, I'm having you, the Blacksnake, and one of our new rangers go to Redwater Village. We've received a report of some trouble."

Red Water was on the edge of the Night Eye clan's territory. It was a village that has more than a dozen weirwoods growing on the edge of a river. The roots drank into the rivers water and the sap leaked into it, dying it red every so often.

"What kind?"

"The same kind that Caswell and Creggar ran found." Degory Caswell and Ser Creggar Woods ranged together to investigate one of the abandoned villages and found no trace of anything. The brother that joined them was a new recruit, fresh from his oath. His name was remembered by few but would be forgotten since he disappeared like the villagers when he went scouting on the range. There was no sign of death or any attack, he just vanished.

"And when you get back, you'll be assisting the stewards for the next two months for the two punches you gave Alliser."

"By your order, Lord Commander."

Benjen went straight to his room to prepare. It didn't take long, but he had nothing else to do, nor wanted to do. He tried lying in his bed and sleeping. He wouldn't be leaving until tomorrow evening and just wanted his confinement to go by quickly.

* * *

Daenerys

 

The caravan had stopped in a town just a mile outside the walls of the city, but the wagon driver Viserys paid was taking them through the gates. It was the least he could do for the delay that the Dothraki Horde caused.

They had been there once before, but only when she was a baby so she had no memory of it. Ser Willem Darry and a handful of knights loyal to her family were taking her and Viserys to Ser Willem's home with the red door in Braavos. The other knights disappeared from what she was told.

The walls around the city were very tall compared to the ones in Norvos. They were only half the height and they were much nicer. Pale stone that looked like it was cut and shaped by artists instead of stonemasons. Atop the portcullis was a stone carving of a rising sun with rays of carved light bursting from the center.

There were two guards at each side of the gate. They wore black leather armor and spiked helms that covered all but their eyes. Each man carried a long spear and a round shield as black as their armor.

"Do you see them, Dany?" Viserys asked as he pointed to the men. "Those are some of the greatest soldiers in the world. The Unsullied. Theirs is the only army ever known to force a Dothraki horde into submission."

"They look don't very strong though." The Unsullied were dark-skinned, but they were glistening with sweat and one of them shaking lightly. They showed many signs of exhaustion but remained vigilant, almost as if they didn't know they were.

"They are slaves trained for years, not savages on horseback. When I take back the Iron Throne from the Usurper, I may have them at my back."

Daenerys had never seen a battle before so she had no thoughts on how that would look or how many would fight. But one thing was for sure, there would be blood and lots of it. And the pigs in Westeros who murdered their family would deserve it when it happened. If Daenerys had a dragon of her own like her ancestors, she would fly straight to the Red Keep set fire to the Usurper who killed her older brother, and then Casterly Rock to kill Tywin Lannister for butchering her niece and nephew, and then Winterfell to melt the Usurper's Dog and the rest of the Starks.

The wagon road through the gates into the city and stopped at a stable.

"Right," the driver said, "end of the journey, welcome to Pentos."

Viserys and Daenerys hopped off the wagon and watched as it went back outside the city.

"What do we do now?" Daenerys asked. She looked around at her surroundings. The buildings were half the height of the walls and the people were bustling. She noticed one man staring at her and Viserys, either in awe or surprise. But he scurried away after the moment passed.

"We're looking for the magister who send the letter to us. His name a Vylor Roranus." Viserys took Daenerys's hand and held it as he led her into the city.

As they left the stables, the smell of horse was replaced by the smell of food. They came to the market area and saw many stalls and vendors selling pastries, wines, and all other sorts of foods.

The sight and smell made Daenerys's stomach growl. Because of the delay on the road, their rations were thinned and they hadn't eaten much in the morning.

"Viserys, could we get something to eat?"

"We'll have food when we arrive at the magister's manse."

"But the city is so big, we might not find it for a long time."

Viserys stopped and looked around to acquire his bearings. He sighed out, feeling just as tired and hungry as she was. "Alright." He rummaged through the satchel hidden in the bag and pulled out several coins. Most of them were copper "What do you want to eat?"

Daenerys looked around and spotted a man selling some fresh fruit at his stand. "Let's go over there." She led her brother over to the vendor and looked at all he had to offer.

"Fresh fruit, sweet and juicy!" he spotted Daenerys and Viserys approaching. "Fresh fruits, sweet as you, little sweet," he spoke to Daenerys.

"How much for two oranges?" Viserys asked.

"Five coppers." Viserys gave the man five coppers and the man gave them each a large orange. "Thank you greatly, good sir."

"Come on, Dany." Viserys led her away from the stall, but Daenerys had an idea.

"Viserys, wait." She returned to the vendor. "Excuse me."

"Is there something more you want? Perhaps a lemon or a tangerine?"

"No, thank you. I was wondering if you know where Magister Vylor Roranus lives?"

"Magister Vylor? He lives in a manse by the coast. It's the one with the five red towers. But what kind of business does a child like you have with a Magister?"

"I'm Princess Daenerys Targar-"

Viserys pulled her away and pressed his hand on her mouth, dropping his orange. "Sh! Don't tell anyone who you are!"

Daenerys didn't see why she had to. The vendor was a polite man and didn't seem to be like the kind of person she had to hide from. But she nodded and Viserys took his hand off her. He picked up his orange and led her out of the market in a haste. They found a rather unpopulated lane and sat off to the side to eat.

"Don't tell anyone else your name or mine until we are safe with the Magister, understand!?" He hissed at her.

"Yes, I'm sorry." Daenerys peeled her orange and tore a piece out from what was underneath. But when she bit down, there was not a shred of sweetness in the orange, only bitterness. So much that she spat out what was in her mouth. "Ugh, this tastes awful!"

Viserys ripped the peel off of his orange and bit down into it. His turned sour and he spat it out. "These aren't fresh! That fucking-" Viserys's anger disappeared when he froze looking down the lane. Daenerys followed his gaze and saw the man who sold the oranges to them with three others. All of them held knives.

"That's them," the merchant said. "They're the Targaryens."

"King Robert Baratheon will pay us mountains of gold for their heads." One of the other men said.

Visery dropped the orange and took Daenerys's hand and pulled her to her feet. "Dany, run!" The two of them broke for an alleyway.

"After them!"

They ran as fast as they could. Viserys pulled her as fast as he could. Daenerys felt she might trip over herself time and time again but her fear kept her from doing it. It was like her feet were being carried.

They came out into a different market. This one wasn't selling fruits or any foods like the one they were just in. There was nothing but metal work here. Armor, jewelry, weapons, and much more. This place was filled with more people too. Mostly large men who were fighters looking for equipment.

Viserys shoved between people while going in the most complicated path to throw off their chasers. It was starting to work. The adults couldn't keep up with the size of two children and most of them were rather fat and heavy legged.

They turned passed a stall selling armor when suddenly Viserys darted aside from someone but Daenerys wasn't as quick as him. She collided with someone and felt her hand slip out of Viserys's. She fell to the ground but landed on whoever she ran into.

She lifted herself up to get back to her brother but then saw the face of the boy she was on top of. The raven black hair, the dark eyes, it was all the same as how he looked in her dream. It was the boy she saw get stabbed by the scary man with the knife. "It's you." But when she tried to remember what his name was, it blanked on her.

"Dany, get up!" Viserys dropped the bag aside and pulled her off the boy frantically. "Come on, run!" He grabbed the bag back when the went to run again.

Daenerys looked back at the boy and saw he had something in his hand. It was the box with the ring in it. "Viserys, the ring! You dropped the ring!"

He didn't even look back. "Forget the ring, just run!" To him, the ring meant nothing it if cost them their lives. "Come on, this way!" The turned the corner and sprinted as fast as they could.

Daenerys was starting to get exhausted and she could see that Viserys was too. They were back in the streets and hid around the corner of a building. Viserys nearly fell down he was so exhausted. Both of them were out of breath.

"Did we lose them?" Daenerys asked.

"I'm not sure, Dany." Viserys peaked around the corner. He darted back and got to his feet. "They're still following us, but there's only three now." He hissed.

"Where's the other one?"

"Shh! They're looking for us."

Daenerys felt the fear sink deeper into her and she began to panic. She didn't want die. She wanted to go home to Braavos, to the house with the Red Door and the lemon tree that grew in front of it. She held tightly to her brother as she began to sweat.

They couldn't run from where they were. There was no alley behind them and the street was too open and had no way to go but one direction for about another mile. Daenerys looked down to see if there was maybe something she couldn't see, some way to escape. She closed her eyes and prayed to any god who would listen to help them.

"There! I see them!"

Daenerys's entire body tighten at the sound of that. She couldn't help but react as girl should and screamed loudly.

Viserys held onto her tightly and the three men ran for them. But before they got close, a spear had come from the other end of the street and founds its way to the closest of the men. The throw was so powerful that it took him off his feet and carried him far over until he hit the ground. The other two men looked back and immediately ran away in utter terror. Another spear came hurdling and struck another one of the men while two Unsullied charged after the last one.

Daenerys breathed out in utter relief. She felt as if she had woken up from a bad dream.

Viserys looked around the corner to see what was going on. "It's the Unsullied!" He said full of relief. "They were just down the road."

One of the Unsullied soldiers approached them and immediately halted. ' _Have these ones served you well?'_ He spoke in High Valyrian even though he was still considered a slave soldier.

' _You have.'_ Viserys replied.

The Unsullied bowed his head and rejoined his fellow soldiers.

Daenerys stood up with her brother and looked around. The Unsullied had caught up to the last of the men and killed him too. She felt safe again until a hard slap came across her face from Viserys.

"You dumb bitch!" He growled her. "This is all your fault! If you hadn't opened your mouth to that merchant, this wouldn't have happened and we wouldn't have lost our most valuable treasure! How am I supposed to afford a large enough army now?"

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" Daenerys clasped at her cheek at the stinging of tears began to form in her eyes. "I didn't mean to."

"Of course you didn't, because you didn't think. Gods be damned, the ring's probably been taken by some peasant and out of the city by now." Viserys yelled out his frustrations before grabbing Daenerys's hand painfully tight and pulling her as he walked. "Come on, we need to get to the Magister's." He grumbled.

"But I saw who took the ring," Daenerys told him, "it was the same boy from my dream! Maybe he still has it."

"Would you shut up! Enough about dreams and your dumb ideas! The ring is gone, and it's your fault." His pace quickened as they went down the road.

Daenerys had told herself that dragons do not cry every time she felt the want to. But at this moment she realized that she wasn't a dragon, just a stupid girl who messed everything up for her brother. She kept herself as silent as she could as the salt of her tears stung where Viserys had slapped her.

* * *

Jon - Moments Ago

' _Don't leave the ship until you reach Volantis.'_ Thoros told him. His words were absolute when they parted ways. And yet Jon still wondered how he was convinced by Asher to join him in exploring Pentos.

Ever since Asher found out, he had been in Jon's company more than he usually was, but he wasn't rather prodding about what happened in Winterfell. Jon told him once and that was the end of it. His lingering was probably how he took notice to Jon's amazement when they first saw the city when they were on the ship. It was ten times the size of White Harbor and so different.

And the temperature was so much hotter than it ever was in the North. Jon hadn't worn his cloak for days and had the sleeves of his doublet removed.

"Come on, Jon." Asher was standing atop a pedestal next to a statue of a man in robes. "You have to see this!"

Jon climbed up to the statue with Asher and was amazed at the view. The city was full of so much life. There must be more people in all of Westeros crammed into this place. The buildings were all a pearl white with rooftops a ceramic orange. The way they were made was so rich and artistic compared to the simpleness of Winterfell.

"Come on!" Asher hopped down from the statue. "Let's go explore."

Jon did feel the desire to go do that, but they were getting farther from the ship and they did not have much time to get back. He pointed in the direction they came.

"Don't worry, as long as we just go look real quick and we'll make it back in time. He grabbed Jon's arm and pulled him down and into the market.

If they would only look, then it shouldn't take that long. And as long as they didn't go too far they wouldn't get lost. But then again, he was worrying about every little thing since he left the North. Maybe this would be good.

Asher went on ahead to the sounds of steel being struck against anvils.

Jon followed after but slowly. He wished it to take longer, he wanted to try to think to himself about where he was rather than what was awaiting him in Volantis and why he was here, to begin with.

' _I wonder what kind of swords they use in Essos. Maybe curved ones like in Maester Luwin's books about the Rhoynar and Queen Nymeria. But that one man we passed had two longswords on his back so maybe they have some Westeros knights here too.'_ He looked around at some of the armor being displayed on stands and racks. ' _Those look different than what father wears. It looks more comfortable-'_

Jon's thoughts were interrupted when something, or rather someone, ran into him. He fell hard in the dirt and softened the fall of whoever ran into him. He grunted out silently and nearly had the wind knocked out of him.

Jon looked at who was on top of him and became starstruck at the pair of eyes looking back at him. They were a color purple, almost pink, and looking them was like looking at two jewels and belonged to a girl his size. Her hair was almost pure silver when the sun's light hit it. Even if he could speak, he would still be speechless. He couldn't help but be amazed, she was like something out of a storybook.

She looked terrified of something, but then it changed into surprise when she looked at him too. She seemed to forget what just happened and remained on him, staring eye to eye. "It's you." She said.

"Dany, get up!" An older boy with the same color of eyes and hair as the girl grabbed her by the arm and pulled her off Jon. He was absolutely afraid, just as she was when Jon first saw her on him. "Come on, run!" Jon sat up at first but paused when he saw a small box resting in the dirt in between his legs. He picked it up and looked back to the girl and the boy, holding the box out to them as they ran. Only the girl looked back and noticed it.

"Viserys, the ring! You dropped the ring!" The girl cried out. The boy looked back and only caught a glimpse of the box but he didn't care for it.

"Forget the ring, just run!" They disappeared down the street, growing smaller in the distance.

Jon got to his feet and inspected the box as Asher returned to him. The first thing he noticed was a three-headed dragon carved into the lid. He recognized it, but couldn't remember where he did.

"I saw what happened. Are you alright?" he asked.

Before Jon could give any form of response, he heard a voice call out from where the girl and the boy came from.

"They went this way!"

Jon and Asher both looked back and saw a group of men pushing through the crowd. They each had knives in their hands.

Asher took the box from Jon and stood in the path of the men. "Stop it!" He called at them and held out the box. "This is what you want, right? Take it and leave 'em alone." He opened the box and took out a beautifully made ring with a ruby dragon it.

"Fuck me," one of the men, the fattest of the lot, said, "Those brats had treasure on them. You three get the kids, the ring's mine."

"Oh damn." Asher dropped the box but held onto the ring. "Fuck! Run Jon!" Asher grabbed Jon by the shoulder and darted through various stalls. The man pursued them but had trouble maneuvering as they did.

Jon and Asher made it to the streets and ran as fast as their legs could carry them. Asher could have gone farther than Jon by now, but he was pulling him to keep them together.

They turned into an alleyway that led deep between many buildings. Unfortunately, they made a wrong turn and came to a dead end with nothing but a huge pile of rags lying in the dirt. They turned around but the man had already caught up.

"You fuckers," He snarled and stuck his knife out. "Give me that ring."

Asher reached an arm to his belt, but his eyes widened he remembered he had left his sword and ax on the ship.

Jon was pushed behind Asher as the man walked closer to them. He bared his teeth at them like an animal about to attack prey.

There was a shuffle among a pile of rags off to the side. From beneath the pile rose a hooded, dirty man, groaning and burping himself awake. He eyes were tightly shut as he rose to his feet and leaning up against a wall. He undid his breeches and began pissing in the alley, in full view of everyone present. He finally cracked opened his eyes and looked around, but when he met the gazes of Jon and Asher, he paid no heed and continued to piss.

"Oy, fuck off, you." The chaser growled.

"Mmm… almost done." He finished emptying his water before concealing his cock back in his breeches. "Used to be you could piss and be undisturbed." The man shuffled through the pile of rags and pulled out a belt with a sword and dagger strapped to it. Both of the weapons were beautifully decorated with detail, but the sword was the most impressive. It had what looked like animal teeth in various parts of the hilt.

When the belt was strapped around the man's waist, he reached down again and pulled out an empty wineskin. "Damn, it leaked-"

"I said fuck off!" The chaser shoved the man aside and there was nothing between him and Asher and Jon. But before he could step any closer, the man grabbed the chaser's shoulder and stopped him.

"Well, that was rude. First, you peek at me taken a piss and now you shove into me-"

The chaser spun around with the knife held up, jabbing it towards the drunken man. But unexpectedly the man moved aside as if he was falling over in a drunken stupor and shoved the chaser to the ground.

"That wasn't very smart of you." The man said.

The chaser glared angrily as he got to his feet and pointed his knife at the man.

"You don't want to do that. Just run back to where you came from and we'll all forget this happened." There was no sign that the chaser was going to do as he said. "Listen, I have a broadsword and a dagger. And I should warn you," his eyes narrowed into a cold stare, "I'm only half drunk."

The chaser dashed forward, yelling out as he tried to thrust his knife into the man. But in an instant, the man's movements changed from being sluggish to a refined dodge and at the same time he drew his dagger and ran the edge deep into the chaser's neck.

The chaser fell down hard and grabbed at the wound. Blood began to spill into his throat and he choked and gurgled his own blood. In mere seconds, the chaser was dead.

Jon shivered at the sight as the blood began to spread into a big puddle. Was that what he looked like when he was killed. He grabbed the back of Asher's shirt, holding tight as the memories began to play over in his head again.

The man wiped dagger on the fabric of his shirt's front tails, not caring about the stain. "Honestly, you'd think muggers would have a sense of reason… or at least manners." He looked back at Asher and Jon. "What'd you two do? Pull at his sack hairs?" the man pulled back his hood and revealed hair that was as almost as white as the clouds that reached down to his shoulders. The way the sun reflected off of it reminded Jon of the girl's hair. He had the beginnings of a beard, but that was just from not shaving. But his eyes were what were the most interesting. They were almost the same color purple as the girl and the boy from before. His were slightly darker in color and deeper in the color red than blue.

Asher stepped forward and answered his question. "He was chasing some other children with his friends. I got in the way but it didn't go how I thought it would..."

The man groaned as he rolled his eyes at them. "Dumb kids playing savior-" His eyes widened as he gagged forward and vomited out a heap of bile. "Fuck me, that tasted awful." He wiped his lips on his sleeve and looked back at Asher and Jon. "You got any coin?"

"Maybe," Asher replied.

"Good, because you're buying me breakfast for saving your little idiot asses." He rested a hand on the pommel of his sword as he waited for Asher and Jon to join him. "Anytime before he shits himself would be nice." He lightly kicked the dead body. "And before any Unsullied find us and have us all killed."

That spurred Jon and Asher to leave as quick as they could. They followed their rescuer to a tavern nearby and had no choice but to buy him some food.

Jon declined the offer from Asher from something to eat. He didn't feel well after watching someone else die only minutes ago. But he didn't feel sick from the experience. In fact, he didn't feel that estranged about it at all. Instead, he kept wondering if the man who died went were Jon went when he died. That void of nothingness. Was there a man singing and playing a harp for him too?

Jon kept his hands under the table and twiddled the ring in his fingers. Asher gave it to him when they left the alley. It made him think about the dragon that was one the box. It was also on the ring as a ruby. He knows he has seen it somewhere, it was on the tip of mind. ' _A three-headed dragon. There was a House that had their sigil like this, but what was the name?'_ His thoughts drifted over to the boy and girl the ring belonged to. ' _I wonder if they got away. I hope they did. Maybe we can find them and return the ring. Why would anyone want to kill them if it isn't for the ring then what? And what did that girl mean when she said 'it's you'? Did she recognize me? I've never seen her before… she was kinda pretty though.'_

"Oy, runt." The man called to Jon, breaking him out of his thoughts. "I said where you from?"

"He can't speak," Asher answered for him. "We're from the North."

"Ah, Westeros. Been there once, smelled like shit so I came back. Where're you headed?"

"I'm going to Tyrosh to join up with some sellswords or maybe become a pit fighter. Jon's going to… Oh, fuck!" Asher exclaimed. "Jon, our ship! We're going to miss it!"

Jon had no time to get shocked as Asher jumped out of his seat and quickly left some coin for their rescuer. They both ran out of the tavern and did their best to navigate back to the docks. But they had taken so many turns running from their attacker. They couldn't tell which way they came from and were deeper into the city than they wanted to be. Nothing looked familiar.

Eventually, they found where they started and backtracked to the port of the city. The ran to where their ship was docked but when they got there, it was already gone.

"Oh… shit." Asher groaned. "Dammit!" He kicked a nearby wooden bucket in his frustration. "All my things, gone!" His sword, ax, and the rest of his money were all still their cabin.

Jon looked out to the sea and thought he could see their ship just sailing beyond the horizon. They were now stuck in the city. What were they going to do? He had to get to Volantis to the Red Priests Thoros told him about.

"I take it you missed your boat." Jon and Asher both looked and saw the man from the alley had followed them. He was leaning against a post with Asher's money in hand and still looking very drunk to the point he might just fall over. He walked up to Asher and shoved the money back to him. "This is fucking Westerosi coin. It's worth nothing here unless you trade it at a bank for good money."

"How'd you pay for your food then?"

"Never do." He walked out to the docks and looked out to the sea. "From the looks of it, you need someone to take you out of the city to where you're headed." He looked back to Jon and Asher. "I'll do it for the right price."

"You just said my money was worthless," Asher told him. "We got nothing else."

"You got a nice ring there." He pointed to Jon's hand.

Jon hid his hands behind his back while shaking his head. It wasn't his ring to give away.

"Listen, even if you do exchange your for the right currency, you'll get less than you give because of tax on converting money, and you'll still need about five times what you get to hire a boat. A small boat to be exact." He sat down on a barrel and unsheathed his dagger after pulling out an apple from his satchel. He began cutting off pieces and eating them. "You don't have much a choice given how alone you two are."

Asher looked at Jon with uncertainty. "I hate to say it, but he might be right."

Jon took out one of his parchments and charcoals and began writing down on it. ' _It's not our ring.'_

"No, it's not," Asher told him. "But I'm guessing that those kids it belongs to didn't get so lucky like we did. There were three men after them and they're probably dead by now. So now it's no one's except ours. Now give it here." Asher held his hand out to Jon.

Jon looked back between Asher and the man. It didn't feel right to just give the ring away after finding it how they did. But Asher was right. They didn't have much of a choice and he needed to get to Volantis. But first, he wrote down on his parchment again and showed it to the man. ' _Do you promise to take us to where we need to go?'_

He nodded. "I swear on my blood as a Valyrian. I'll take you to where you're going if you give me the ring."

' _What's your name?'_  Jon wrote.

The man eyed Jon curiously with half a grin on his face. "Baelgor Aekylosh. Do we have a deal?" He held his hand out for the ring.

Jon took one last look at it, apologizing in his mind to the ones who lost it before giving the ring to Baelgor. ' _Sorry about this.'_

"Wonderful." He gave a tired smile as he stood from the barrel and sheathed his dagger. "Follow me. I'll get this appraised, sold, and buy us passage to Tyrosh."

"First, Volantis," Asher added.

Baelgor's expression immediately changed from dazed to utter seriousness. He shot a look at Asher. "Trust me, you don't want to go there."

"Not me, him." Asher pointed at Jon. "He's got to go meet the priests of the Lord of Light."

Baelgor looked at Jon in a way that made him nervous. "I can't go there. I'm a known wanted man there. I'll take you to Tyrosh and no further."

"Then no deal," Asher told him. "Jon has to go to Volantis. He has questions that need answers."

"Ha! Who told you the red followers have answers? Was it another priest? Did he tell you what they practice in Volantis?"

Jon thought about it. Thoros hadn't said a word him about what to expect. Not only that, but Jon hadn't the slightest clue as to what they practiced or worshiped, really. He shook his head 'no' for his answer

"The Servants of the R'hllor burn people alive for their god. Not just men, but women and children too. They do it all because their god commands them to for nothing!"

The things Baelgor was saying started to scare Jon. He knew nothing about the Lord of Light and Thoros did not mention a single thing about burning sacrifices. Was he trying to lure him to be a sacrifice too?

Jon quickly wrote down on his parchment and showed it to Asher. ' _I don't want to go anymore.'_

"But you told me the priest said you'd get answers to why you-... to why you're still  _here_." Asher turned to Baelgor. But Jon gave him a look he hoped Asher would understand and, to his relief, it seemed to work. "Are you sure we can trust this man?"

' _He looks fowl, but I think he's alright.'_ Jon wrote.

As Asher read it, he pointed out an error. "Firstly, you need to be absolutely sure. I mean, if I been through what you have… actually, I have no idea what in seven hells I would feel. Secondly, the foul you mean is spelled with a 'U', not a 'W'. Different meanings. Just do what you think is wise first, alright?" Jon nodded and Asher turned to Baelgor. "Take us to Tyrosh first, and if he still doesn't want to go, then fine. He'll stick with me and the money you get for the ring is all yours."

Baelgor rested his hand on the elaborately decorated hilt of his sword. "Works for me," he said, sticking his and out. With another glance back to Jon, Asher took the hand in a firm shake, before he did likewise with Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder, I am still debating to keep going with this or not. I just had this written and decided to release it


	11. Descision Making

Firstly, I apologize for getting your hopes up. This isn't chapter 10, this is an announcement.

 

I'll get straight to the point by telling you that I might be abandoning this story. But it is a MIGHT BE, not a WILL BE, until i can determine the answer. After several discussions with my 2nd beta for this, I am wondering if I should keep going... That sounded very suicidal just now. I am wondering if I should keep on with the story. As my beta, she was told what my future plans were and unfortunately I kept throwing so much that it became too much. some of those things include-

-Too much OG content

-Too many storylines

-Convoluted storylines

-Pacing

Now I'm guessing if you're reading this, you've enjoyed the story so far. The problem is that it was a fantastic start and a great premise but everything feels so disorganized because there is so much I want to do. I am trying to get things to be simplified for now but given that I, the author, am having trouble with that it's not looking so great. My original story plan in the first part (right now) is already far different than what I was going to do originally. There is too much I am 50/50 on and so much that requires many Ex Machinas to happen and then there are the parts that I know for sure are the _'that is utter BS, they would not do that'_ but are necessary. And then it's lining everything up which is another ass kicker. And then things start to feel repetitive in some areas.

 

I guess to summarize, everything after this is probably going downhill to the realm of WTF IS GOING ON!?!?!?!?!

 

Depending on how I am able to work things out, there are a few possibilities of what will happen

-Story will continue as is

-I might redo that last few chapters and go back to my original plan

-End it -if I do choose this, I will announce it but offer to hand it over to anyone who might want it. If not then we shall all say farewell

-So that you aren't left wondering what would have happened, I might just post the outline I made so far and leave the details to your imaginations because even I hate it when questions are not answered... 'cough' Thundercats reboot 'cough' Dark Universe 'cough'. But this would also answer if the beginning was only a sweet cherry on top of a sewage Sunday that only got your hopes up... 'cough' Last Jedi 'cough' M. Night Shyamalan's Avatar 'cough'

 

I just need time to solve all of this.

 

Thanks for all the love and support so far

-GreedofRage/WrathofAvarice(Fanfiction.net)


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